A silver tray of appetizers | Source: Midjourney
“Well, go on then, Lacey,” he said, his tone dry and louder than it needed to be. “How much of my money did you spend on today?”
Most of the laughter stopped mid-breath. There were a few unsure chuckles from people who didn’t know how else to respond to that. Conversation hung in midair.
I froze, still holding the tray. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears.
A pensive woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“You’re living off me, eating for free, and didn’t even bother to get me a gift,” he added, taking a sip of his drink like he was proud of it. “You’re not even pregnant. It’s like you don’t even want a baby.”
The tray suddenly felt too heavy. My arms ached. My face flushed, prickling with heat. I glanced around and caught fleeting expressions, confusion, discomfort, and pity.
My throat tightened. My thoughts scattered. I opened my mouth, but the words didn’t come.
A man sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
Then I heard it, my father clearing his throat. It was a familiar sound, one I’d grown up hearing. But tonight, it carried weight and intention.
“Aidan, you’re right,” he said.
I turned to my father, stunned. My stomach twisted. He wasn’t an emotional man. He was quiet, reserved, and rarely confrontational. But the way he looked at Aidan then, there was something sharp behind his eyes.
He continued, his voice calm but razor-sharp, each word landing with a precision that made the silence heavier.
An upset older man standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“Instead of keeping her job and finding a man who respects her, Lacey chose someone like you. And now, here she is, living off you. Just like you wanted.”
The breath caught in my throat. Aidan’s smirk faltered. The room shifted around us, suddenly unstable, like the floor had tilted and no one was sure how to stand.
“That’s not all,” my mother leaned forward, her voice slicing through the tension.
A side profile of an older woman | Source: Midjourney
Aidan blinked, visibly thrown by her sudden sharpness.
“She made all this food,” my mother said, gesturing toward the long, candle-lit table. “She cleaned every corner of this house, handled every detail. Who do you think did that, Aidan? It wasn’t elves.”
“It’s Lacey’s job. She’s home all day, this is why. She’s supposed to do these things without question.”
I flinched. Not because I hadn’t heard it before, but because he said it in front of everyone. My husband stripped me of my dignity like it was nothing.
