Vacations meant driving somewhere for a weekend, not flying overseas.
Victoria grew up with country clubs, catered birthdays, expensive schools, and relatives who knew people whose names appeared in newspapers.
At first, none of that mattered between us.
For the first year or two, things were good.
We had routines that felt normal.
I cooked because I enjoyed it.
Victoria would sit at the counter with a glass of wine while I made dinner and talked about her day.
Sometimes she helped.
Sometimes she just watched.
I didn’t mind either way.
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