The cold gray water was still dripping from my wedding dress when I set my wedding ring on the kitchen counter.
Three hours earlier, everyone had been calling me the luckiest bride in Chicago.
I had married Ethan Walker in a ballroom filled with flowers, champagne, and nearly two hundred guests.
His mother, Margaret, smiled graciously for every photograph.
But the moment we reached the Walker family estate, that smile disappeared.
She pointed toward three laundry baskets piled high beside the kitchen.
“Before you go upstairs, wash those.”
I stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Ethan’s shirts, his father’s clothes, and mine.”
I was still wearing my wedding dress.
Margaret folded her arms.
“A wife needs to understand her place from the very first night.”
I turned toward Ethan.
I expected him to laugh. To tell his mother she had gone too far.
Instead, he loosened his tie and looked annoyed.
“Just do it, Claire.”
I held his eyes.
