“Oh, you still teach middle school? That must be… rewarding.”
“Mark says you love your little house. That’s so nice.”
“We should find something simple for you to wear to the engagement party. You probably don’t want to feel overdressed.”
I told myself I was imagining things. That maybe rich girls just spoke differently. That what mattered was my son’s happiness.
But the cracks were there.
A few months before the wedding, Chloe was discussing budgets with her mother in front of me, laughing about the cost of flowers.
With a casual wave of her hand, she said, “Honestly, the rehearsal dinner alone costs more than some people live on for a year.”
Then she glanced at me. Just for a moment—but long enough.
Mark heard it.
“Chloe,” he said, flatly.
She gave that airy laugh of hers. “What? I meant people in general.”
Later, in the parking lot, I told him, “You don’t need to fight my battles.”
His jaw tightened. “Maybe I should start.”
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