“We do want them at the wedding, don’t we?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful, though I wasn’t convinced.
Chris sighed heavily. “If they can’t accept you by now, I don’t care anymore.”
But I knew that wasn’t entirely true. We both needed peace—some kind of closure before we walked down the aisle.
Inside, his mother greeted us with her usual frosty smile. No matter how often I showed up with kindness and respect, she never warmed up to me.
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After a broken engagement, the narrator returns to her Grandma Maribel’s small home in Blueford, where grief quietly simmers. A small mistake—cooking tomatoes in a cast iron…
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My mother-in-law laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea—apparently, her friend didn’t know what paprika is made from. I smiled awkwardly, pretending to get the joke….