My hair was pinned up messily, with several forgotten bobby pins still trapped beneath the curls.
“What exactly are you saying?” I asked.
Mason’s expression hardened.
“I’m saying you cook. You clean. You wash clothes. You help my mother. You make sure my dad has meals. You take care of me.”
He stepped closer.
“And you don’t walk around here acting like some rich girl on vacation.”
Something cold settled inside my chest.
Not fear.
Clarity.
Because suddenly, several things Mason had said during our engagement sounded very different.
My mom likes things done a certain way.
Family comes first.
A good wife knows how to keep peace.
My parents are old-fashioned.
You’ll understand once we’re married.
I had dismissed all of it.
I had loved him.
And love has an ugly habit of translating warning signs into misunderstandings.
Carol pointed toward the sink.
“Those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.”
