Chapter 3: The First Pressure
Aaron returned that night alone.
He did not knock. He used the key he already had and walked straight into the kitchen where I was rinsing the unused teacups.
“We need to talk,” he said.
I turned off the water and dried my hands.
“Then talk.”
He paced the length of the island, the same island my father had helped install.
“You embarrassed me in front of my parents. You made my father look like a fool.”
“Your father walked into this house and started giving away rooms that do not belong to him,” I said. “You stood there and agreed with him.”
“He’s trying to help his family. That’s what family does.”
“My parents are family too. They bought this house so their grandchild would have a safe place. Not so your sister could have a downstairs suite for her knees.”
Aaron stopped pacing.
“You’re being selfish.”
I almost laughed.
“I worked through morning sickness and high-risk appointments while you told people I was ‘resting.’ I watched my parents empty their savings accounts so we wouldn’t have to climb three flights of stairs anymore. And when they finally handed me the keys, your first instinct was to start assigning bedrooms to your relatives.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“Dad is going to push back. You know how he is.”
“I do. That’s why I had you sign the postnuptial agreement.”
Aaron’s expression hardened.
“You planned this.”
“I protected what my parents worked twenty years to give me,” I said. “There is a difference.”
He left without another word, the front door closing harder than necessary.
I locked it behind him and stood in the quiet kitchen for a long time.
My phone lit up with a message from an unknown number a few minutes later.
It was Gerald.
We need to discuss this like adults. The house is larger than one couple needs. Family should share resources.
I did not reply.
May you like
I screenshotted the message and forwarded it to the attorney who had prepared the postnuptial papers.
Then I went upstairs, checked the nursery one more time, and went to bed alone in the house that still smelled faintly of fresh paint and my mother’s tea.
