My parents skipped my wedding because they thought my tattooed rocker husband would ruin my life. A year later, Dad appeared at our door, certain he’d finally proved them right. He’d seen Cole outside a hospital holding a little boy’s hand—and demanded to know who the child was.
I grew up in a house where the neighbors’ opinions weighed more than my own happiness.
My parents pictured me marrying a man with a corner office.
A man with a spotless reputation.
