Then there was Daniel’s mother, Margaret. She didn’t need to be openly cruel. One glance from Margaret could make you feel like something unpleasant she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe.
I received that look often.
Once, not long after Daniel and I got engaged, she pulled me aside at a family dinner and said, “You seem like a very nice young woman, Claire, but my son has always had significant opportunities ahead of him.”
Her meaning was obvious: I wasn’t good enough for her son.
In a way, I understood.
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