“That breakfast thing wasn’t random,” she said. “It was the opening move. They wanted to know whether you’d submit.”
My stomach dropped because I knew she was right.
At 8:12 a.m., my mother called, frantic because Patricia had already phoned her. Not to apologize. Not to explain. To complain.
“She said you embarrassed their family,” my mother said, voice trembling with anger. “She said marriage requires humility and that you were raised to be disrespectful.”
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