My father-in-law had a favorite way of reminding me I didn't belong in his house. But on the night of his precious gala, I found something in the attic that changed everything.
The first time I went to my father-in-law's house, I understood something before he ever said a word.
He didn't think I belonged there.
Leo squeezed my hand as we stood in the front entryway of Richard's estate, and I was still taking in the marble floors and cold smell of polish when Richard came down the staircase.
He was wearing tailored shorts, expensive loafers, a watch that probably cost more than my first car, and absolutely nothing else.
No shirt.
No hello.
No smile.
Leo said, "Dad, this is Susan."
Richard didn't even look at me. He walked past us, poured himself a scotch, and said to Leo, "You didn't mention you'd be late."
I stood there with my hand half-raised like an idiot.
Leo cleared his throat. "Dad."
Richard finally glanced over me. His eyes moved across my dress, my shoes, my face. Then he gave me a thin smile.
"Ah," he said. "Her."
That was my welcome.
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