A week after moving in with my new husband, he handed me a frilly apron and called it my “house uniform.” He said it was “just tradition.” I was stunned, but smiled and played along. He thought he wanted a Stepford Wife until I showed him how wrong he was.
One week of marriage, and I was still riding the high of it all: the ceremony, the honeymoon, and now, unpacking our things in our first home.
I heard Derek’s key in the lock, followed by his footsteps down the hall.
“Honey? I’m home,” he called out, his voice carrying that playful edge he got when he was excited about something.
“In the kitchen,” I replied, setting down a crystal serving bowl we’d received as a wedding gift from his aunt.
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