That was all.
No argument.
No angry speech.
Not even an insult in return.
I excused myself and hurried to the restroom, where I cried for nearly twenty minutes.
Ethan eventually found me.
He gently wiped the tears from my cheeks.
“Don’t let her steal our wedding day,” he whispered.
“Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
He kissed my forehead.
“Because I came here to marry you, Olivia. Not to win an argument with your mother.”
I held him tightly.
I thought his calm response meant he had decided to forget what happened.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
To understand my mother’s obsession with money, you need to know something about my father.
His name was Daniel.
He was a hardworking man who repaired furniture, painted houses, and accepted whatever jobs he could find.
Some months were comfortable.
Others were painfully difficult.
But I never doubted that he loved us.
