I was struggling to walk home with my eleven-month-old baby balanced on my hip, my i:nj:ured leg aching with every step and heavy grocery bags digging into my fingers, when my father suddenly pulled his car alongside me. He lowered the window and asked, “Sweetheart, where’s your car?” When I confessed that my mother-in-law had confiscated it because she believed I wasn’t worthy of driving, his expression turned ice-cold. He opened the passenger door and said quietly, “Get in, honey. Tonight, we’re putting an end to this.”

“My work files, Noah’s crib, and the rest of our belongings.”

“And Ethan?”

I stared at my wedding ring.

“I need to know whether he’s willing to be my husband when standing beside me means disagreeing with his mother.”

Dad nodded.

“Then let his actions answer that question.”

The following morning, Linda sent several angry messages. Then her tone suddenly changed.

Camila, I think we should discuss yesterday’s misunderstanding calmly.

Another message appeared.

Your father should understand that I never intended to disrespect his family.

Before I could respond, an unfamiliar number texted me.

Is your father really General Michael Carter?

Seconds later, another message arrived.

The four-star Army general?

I stared at my phone.

Someone had finally discovered who Dad was.

Then came a knock at the hotel room door.

Ethan stood outside holding my laptop bag and a folder of financial documents.

His face looked exhausted.