The first morning after our wedding, I woke to the smell of fresh coffee and breakfast. For a few peaceful seconds, everything felt perfect. Then I opened my eyes, saw the pale-blue walls of the Kensington family lake house, and remembered I was no longer just Evelyn—I was Brandon’s wife.

Brandon was already dressed, adjusting his watch in front of the mirror. Without even looking at me, he reminded me that breakfast started at eight. When I playfully called him “husband,” he frowned and told me not to use that word in front of his family because it sounded needy.

His coldness stung, but I convinced myself he was simply exhausted after the wedding. Only the day before, he had cried during our vows and promised we would always be partners. I wanted to believe that version of him was still real.

Downstairs, the entire Kensington family gathered around the dining table. Brandon’s mother criticized my simple appearance, his sister mocked my job as a school counselor, and Brandon joined their jokes instead of defending me. Every laugh made it harder to ignore the feeling that something was terribly wrong-