I grew up in a massive marble house where you could easily get lost.
My father, Richard, was always in meetings — even on weekends. My mother, Diana, liked everything pristine, quiet, and perfectly curated for her social media.
I was their only child. Their legacy.
And their expectations were always clear — even when unspoken.
From a young age, they prepared me for the “right” marriage. My mother’s friends constantly introduced me to their daughters — all polite, rehearsed, and perfectly trained.
On my 30th birthday, my father calmly put down his fork and said:
“If you’re not married by 31, you’re out of the will.”
No anger. No warning. Just cold certainty.
“That’s it? I have a deadline now?” I asked.
