When my father discovered I had married, he exploded.
He called every hour, leaving short messages filled with icy anger. After several days of ignoring him, I finally answered.
“What is going on, Anna?” he demanded. “You married someone—a stranger! A janitor! Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s my life, Dad,” I replied, unable to keep my voice from shaking.
“You have responsibilities, Anna. Do you think the world is going to respect this… this nonsense? I’ll come by tomorrow. I want to meet this husband of yours.”
“Fine, Dad,” I answered, a chill running through me. I knew avoiding him forever was impossible.
The following evening, my father arrived at our modest apartment wearing another expensive designer suit. His eyes swept over the mismatched furniture and simple décor with obvious disgust.
“Anna, are you really staying here?” he asked.
“This is our home,” I answered, folding my arms while sensing Ethan standing quietly behind me.
