That sentence.
Those exact words.
They were the words people said when things were exactly what they looked like.
I stepped away from the bed and wrapped the blanket around myself.
“My wedding night,” I said slowly, “my husband brings his father into our room, tells me I have to accept some strange tradition, and now there’s a kitten crawling on my back at three in the morning.”
I looked at my husband.
“Do you honestly expect me not to think something is wrong?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For the first time since I met him, he looked like a child caught hiding something.
Finally, my father-in-law sighed.
“I owe you the truth.”
I didn’t answer.
I just stood there.
Waiting.
“My son was supposed to tell you,” he said.
I looked at my husband.
“He didn’t.”
