And now I was realizing he had also known about the kitten.
“What is going on?” I asked.
My voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
My husband’s face changed.
The confident smile he had worn earlier disappeared.
My father-in-law lowered his eyes and slowly placed the kitten on the bed.
“It’s not what you think,” he said.
That sentence.
Those exact words.
They were the words people said when things were exactly what they looked like.
I stepped away from the bed and wrapped the blanket around myself.
“My wedding night,” I said slowly, “my husband brings his father into our room, tells me I have to accept some strange tradition, and now there’s a kitten crawling on my back at three in the morning.”
I looked at my husband.
“Do you honestly expect me not to think something is wrong?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For the first time since I met him, he looked like a child caught hiding something.
Finally, my father-in-law sighed.
“I owe you the truth.”
I didn’t answer.
I just stood there.
Waiting.
“My son was supposed to tell you,” he said.
I looked at my husband.
“He didn’t.”
My husband looked away.
That hurt more than anything.
Because I had spent the entire day believing I was marrying someone who would stand beside me no matter what.
But within hours of becoming his wife, I was standing in a room where two generations of his family had decided what I should accept without even asking me.
My father-in-law slowly sat on the edge of the bed.
“The tradition is not what I told you.”
My eyebrows tightened.
“Then what was it?”
He looked at the kitten.
“This little one belonged to my wife.”
The room became quiet.
My husband’s mother had passed away three years earlier.
I knew the story.
Everyone knew the story.
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Why can’t we finish the story? This is so stupid