Chapter 1: The Weight of Her Stare

My mother-in-law never hid her hatred for me—not once, not even at the end.

She despised that I, born to a working-class family, could marry her son and become the wife of a local council member. The resentment felt like a cold wind each time I caught her stare across the dinner table, her lips pressed thin as a knife’s edge. The clink of her fork on china always made my skin crawl.

She resented that, although her husband was devoted, he refused to listen to her and divorce his wife to remarry. I could almost see the disappointment curling in her hands as she fussed with the hem of her church dress on Sundays, wishing for a different story.

She was even more bitter that I never had children, leaving the Parker family without a proper son or grandson. Every family reunion was a silent tally of baby photos and diaper bags, and I always felt her gaze linger on my empty arms.

After being given a second chance at life, she couldn't wait to break off my family's engagement to her son. It was as if she’d been handed a cosmic do-over and planned to play her hand differently this time around.

To stamp out her son's lingering affection, she schemed to marry me off to the lame scholar in town. Her plans felt like a small-town rumor—spreading fast, impossible to stop, and always sharper than truth.

She waited to see me sink into poverty and misery, living out my days in wretchedness. There was a quiet satisfaction in the way she watched from behind her lace curtains, believing fate would finally do her bidding.

But unexpectedly, what awaited me was a national honor, surrounded by children and grandchildren. Against all odds, my life wove itself into something more than she could have imagined, the front porch alive with laughter and Sunday barbecues.

As for her son, he never left that small Appalachian town again. He became just another story folks told at the general store, a cautionary tale about dreams stuck in place.