The next evening, my father arrived at our small apartment. Dressed in his usual designer suit, he surveyed the space with a look of disgust, glancing at the mismatched furniture and modest decor like it was offensive.
« Anna, are you really staying here? » he asked, turning to me with disappointment.
« This is our home, » I replied, folding my arms. I could feel Ethan’s presence behind me, calm and steady.
Then my father turned to him, looking him up and down. « So, you’re the man who married my daughter, » he said, voice dripping with disdain. « Do you know who she is? Do you have any idea what she’s worth? »
Ethan met his gaze, unfazed. « Yes, sir, I do, » he replied, his voice steady and quiet. « I know she’s more than her last name, or the money attached to it. »
