“I told you to apologize three times, and you’ve acted like a spoiled brat, ignoring me,” he growled. “Now, Allison, give her a taste of her own medicine. Slap her, just like she did to you!”
I was stunned. Michael’s demand was a punch to the gut. As I looked at his harsh, unfeeling face, the image I had of him for so many years shattered.
Seven years ago.
When my mom was critically ill, her last wish was for me to marry before she passed. She knew my dad had died years before, and I was the only one left by her side.
She wouldn’t be at peace until she knew I was settled, with someone who could take care of me after she was gone. Michael seemed like the perfect choice in her eyes.
He wasn’t just anyone—he was our relative’s son, and since his family struggled financially, my mom had practically raised him.
She helped him through school, gave him opportunities, and trusted him with our family business. And to be fair, under his leadership, the business flourished.
After everything we had done for him, Michael couldn’t refuse when my mom asked him to marry me. I admired him, so I had no objections either.