under the bed in my wedding dress to surprise Grayson. Instead his mother Lorna came in, sat above me, lit a cigarette, and called him on speaker.
I heard everything. The coastal apartment Grayson put in my name “so I’d feel secure” — he’d kept every receipt, planning to divorce me in a few months and use the records to take it. Lorna calling my family pathetic, calling my father a nobody. “She thinks she married up. She’ll be grateful for whatever we let her keep.”
My father is chief architect
