He phoned me the following morning. Then the next. It was an endearing gesture, almost comforting in its predictability. Three months later, while having coffee, he pushed a ring toward me across the table. He didn’t ask me to pretend I was crazy about him; he simply wanted me to be taken care of. Practicality is what made me agree. There’s no room for analysis when you’re drowning, you accept the outstretched life vest. My friends thought I was crazy, while his grown-up offspring assumed the worst straight away.
The introduction to the family was hellish. Marlene, Russell’s daughter, wouldn’t even touch my hand. Her look spoke of a stray dog dragging dirt into a priceless carpet.
“So, you are the new project,” she said in an angry manner, yet managed to smile.
The house was an absolute beauty; all spiral staircases and shiny marble. “Welcome home,” he said as he dragged the suitcase in.
That night, when I went to the kitchen for some water, Marlene cornered me by the stairs. “Do you think you are going to inherit this house? You will inherit nothing.”
She did not notice that Russell had been standing right behind her the whole time. He heard her words and said, “She will get exactly what she deserves,” he replied.
Marlene smiled, believing that he agreed with her. What he said echoed in my head for months afterwards.
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