My mother-in-law sh0ved me hard enough that both knees struck the marble floor.
Before the pain fully registered, she pointed down at me.
“Now apologize for forgetting who runs this family.”
The dining room went silent.
Eleven people watched me kneeling beside the table—my husband Daniel, his sister, two uncles, three cousins, and the woman who had spent four years treating my paycheck like family property.
Vivian Mercer stood above me in a cream silk dress worth more than some people’s monthly rent.
“A daughter-in-law obeys,” she said.
My knees throbbed.
Daniel stared at the floor.
That hurt more.
An hour earlier, Vivian had demanded the login credentials to my salary account.
Not asked.
Demanded.
“You’re married now,” she’d said. “There’s no reason for you to control money separately.”
I answered calmly.
