“You were going to marry me off to somebody who would never ask questions.”
“He’s a good man from a good family,” my mother said. “Unlike the one you picked.”
I picked up the box.
I sat across from my lawyer the next morning.
“Graham is the only person at this table who told me the truth today.”
I walked toward the door. Graham was already outside, waiting by the car, giving me space to do this alone.
My father followed me into the hall.
“You’ll regret choosing that boy over blood,” he said. “Mark my words.”
I didn’t turn around.
I sat across from my lawyer the next morning, Graham’s hand steady in mine.
Our lawyer spread the loan records, medical bills, and bank statements across the conference table.
It’ll cost all of you emotionally.
“You’ve got more than enough,” she said. “The documents establish the debt, the unpaid obligation, and years of financial damage. If we file this properly, your parents — and the Whitfields — could be facing civil claims, and once the records become public, the story won’t stay inside a courtroom.”
