Chapter 207
Then my father set down his fork. The clink was soft, but it commanded attention.
"Alayna."
I looked up.
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those quiet eyes that had watched over me my entire life. "You think we don't understand. About needing to do things your own way."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.
"I'm not finished." His voice was calm, unhurried. The voice he used when he wanted to be heard. "When your mother and I got married, we had nothing. Two rice bowls and a borrowed room. Her family offered to helpready, a house, money, connections. Your grandmother begged her to accept."
My mother's hands stilled on the teapot. She was listening now, her expression soft with memory.
"Your mother refused." He glanced at her, and something passed between them, a lifetime of shared history. "She said she wanted to build something with me, not have it given to her. She wanted to prove that we could stand on our own."
