I’m marrying the man of my dreams in three months. Liam, my fiancé, is everything I ever hoped for — kind, brilliant, grounded. But his parents? They never even tried to hide how little they thought of me. They never yelled or cursed. No, they were the kind who wounded with perfectly timed smiles and “accidental” jabs disguised as conversation.
My name’s Elena. I’m 27. Spanish-American. And owner of Capturing Light Photography, a studio that’s booked out eight months in advance. It’s my baby — the result of years of sweat, grit, and sacrifice. But the moment I shook hands with Albert and Candace, Liam’s parents, none of that mattered.
“Photography?” Candace had said during our first dinner together, eyebrows arched so high they almost disappeared into her forehead. “How… artistic of you!”
