Everyone thought I’d lost my mind.
Including my own parents.
My mother cried the first time I told her I was marrying Ethan.
They were tears of disappointment. She held a folded tissue to her nose and stared at me across the kitchen table.
“Amelia,” she said, “you were raised to have options.”
I let out a slow breath. “I was raised to make my own choices too.”“Then why are you choosing the smallest one?”
I looked through the window at my father’s garden, trimmed so perfectly it barely looked alive.
“Ethan isn’t small,” I said quietly.
My father set his coffee cup down with a soft clink.
“He is a farmer.”
“He owns a farm,” I replied.