My mother-in-law gave a sharp, scornful laugh that sliced through the quiet of the room.
“I honestly told Kyle, why does his father have to keep dragging these ridiculous things over here? We do not need farm-fresh produce in a house like this. This kitchen has a fully stocked refrigerator and we certainly do not need those disgusting earthy smells lingering in the hallway.”
Heat surged into my face, burning my skin red as my pulse started pounding against my temples. My name is Chloe, I am thirty-six years old, and I have given more than twelve hours a day to my career, purchasing this house entirely with money I earned myself after years of sleepless nights, endless travel, and enormous personal sacrifice.
Kyle, my husband, worked as a basic inventory supervisor at a regional warehouse, and I had never once used his smaller salary against him. I had never complained about carrying the mortgage, the utilities, his mother’s costly heart medication, or the never-ending demands from his sister.
