Wedding planning should have distracted me, but odd things kept cropping up. Miranda urged us to skip a prenup.
“Those are for people who don’t trust each other, Amelia. Is that a good representation of you and my son?”
She pushed for a quick engagement, brushed off my questions about finances, and always circled back to the house my grandmother left me.
“That home’s a treasure,” she told me at my bridal shower. “It belongs with family.”
Her words landed wrong, even when wrapped in compliments.
Two days before the wedding, I overheard Miranda in the kitchen.
“Once the ceremony’s over, things will feel different,” she said. “She’ll stop pushing back.”
Something in the word settled made my skin prickle.
The next morning, Daniel surprised me outside my café with brownies. He grinned. “I beat you to it.”
