—

Later, while heading toward the powder room, I heard Garrett speaking quietly in the hallway.

“Margaret, I’m not changing a thing. We’ve talked about this,” my fiancé said.

“Daddy, please, just think about it.”

I stepped away before they noticed me. For the first time since Garrett had returned to my life, I wondered what exactly I had walked into.

—

On the first morning I woke in Garrett’s home as his wife, I expected to feel like a visitor who had remained too long. Instead, my husband brought coffee in a china cup and kissed the crown of my head as though it had been part of his routine for years.

“Stop grinning,” I said. “You’ll spill it.”

“Let me grin, Eleanor. I waited a long time for this!”

—

Margaret arrived that Sunday carrying a casserole dish and an expression like winter weather. Daniel trailed two steps behind her with his hands buried in his pockets.

“Mother  used to set the table that way,” Margaret said, studying my linen runner. “Patricia. In case you forgot her name.”

“I didn’t know your mother, honey. But the runner can come right off if it bothers you.”

“Everything about this bothers me,” she retorted.

Garrett cleared his throat from the doorway.

“Margaret. That’s enough.”

She offered him a small, rigid smile but no apology. Daniel refused to look at me.

—

The remarks continued week after week.

She commented that my dress was “a bit much for a woman your age.” She asked whether I’d “ever worked a real job.” Once, during dinner, Margaret openly questioned what I expected to inherit.

“Margaret,” Garrett said quietly, “Eleanor isn’t a topic of conversation. She’s my wife.”

“She’s your mistake!”

My husband placed his fork on the table. I had never seen his jaw tighten like that.

“You will NOT speak to her like that in my house!”