The way he said it made me feel as if I had asked something strange.
I spent the evening navigating conversations carefully.
When Terrence and I finally drove away, he reached across the console and took my hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“They’re your family.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
I looked through the window.
“But it explains a lot.”
He stayed quiet for a moment.
Then he told me something I never forgot.
“When my father died, they started discussing the estate before he was even buried.”
His grip tightened around my hand.
“I watched money turn grief into negotiation.”
He looked ahead.
“I promised myself I would never let money decide what mattered to me.”
I believed him.
Terrence was easy to believe.
We married a year later.
Not at the Washington estate.
We had a small civil ceremony with eight guests and lunch afterward at the restaurant where we had gone on our second date.
Terrence wore a navy suit he already owned.
I wore a cream dress from a sample sale.
A photographer friend took pictures as a wedding gift.
Real photographs.
People laughing.
Looking away.
Catching each other between poses.
Eleanor attended and made a perfectly appropriate speech without saying anything that felt affectionate.
Chloe sent flowers but did not come.
Howard gave a speech about family and legacy while watching me as if he were still evaluating something.
Afterward, Terrence and I moved into the Washington estate.
His mother had been living alone since his father died, and Terrence wanted to remain nearby.
