“No,” I said, louder now. “Tell them what you meant.”
The officiant took a nervous step back. My future in-laws shifted in their seats. My mother folded her arms—a gesture I had known since childhood as a warning.
Ethan leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“Your mom said you needed to stop being difficult. She said you were hysterical, that you wouldn’t listen, that sometimes consequences are the only thing that works.”
There it was. Clean. Simple. Ugly.
“You talked to her about me?” I asked.
He shrugged slightly.
“She knows how to handle you.”
Handle me.
Behind me, Rachel inhaled sharply. My chest felt hollow, yet my mind had never been clearer. I thought about every moment in the past year I had explained away: Ethan laughing when my mother mocked my career, Ethan telling me I was “too sensitive,” Ethan insisting I should apologize after every family argument just to keep the peace.
