"A few days is fine, but the longer it goes on, the more friction there'll be." He exhaled a stream of smoke. "Better to sort it out before feelings get hurt. Don't you think... she should find her own place?"

My mom didn't say a word.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she pressed my hand and smiled. "Your father-in-law is right. Living together really isn't practical. I'll rent a place of my own. It'll be more comfortable that way."

That afternoon, she went out looking for an apartment.

I watched her drag that bad leg from one listing to the next, asking at every door, and my chest ached so badly I could barely breathe.

She was the one who ended up comforting me. "Don't worry about it. I'll find somewhere close by. I can still come over and cook for you two."

Later, Prudence mentioned that the office janitor had quit. My mom had nothing to do anyway, so why not let her take the job?

I refused on the spot.

But my mom went behind my back and accepted.

She smiled when she told me. "Sitting around doing nothing isn't my style. Every little bit of money helps."

"Besides, it's your in-laws' company. Me working there is just another way of supporting you two."

I knew what she was really doing. She was trying to win Prudence over. Trying to win the whole Swanson family over.

For more than six months, she left before dawn and came home after dark. Sweeping floors, wiping down the break room, hauling out trash.

Twenty-eight hundred dollars a month. The lowest salary in the entire company.

She never once said she was tired. Every time I went to see her, she greeted me with that same warm smile, asking if I'd eaten, if I was worn out, if Prudence was treating me well.

One evening I went to pick her up after work. I found her crouched on the break room floor, wiping a water stain with a rag, inch by inch.

A few young employees stood nearby chatting. Their feet were inches from where she'd just cleaned. They walked right through it, leaving dirty shoe prints across the wet tile.

She didn't make a sound. She waited until they left, then crouched back down and started over.

I stood in the doorway, eyes stinging.

All of it. Every last moment, piling up in my head, one after another.

"Mom." I took her hand. "Listen to me. None of this is your fault. I'm the one who failed you."

She lifted her face, and the tears finally fell.

"Son, don't do this for my sake..."

"It's not for you." I cut her off. "It's for me."

I stared out the window at the overcast sky, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm done swallowing it."

The truth was, the Swanson family never thought much of me, not even when Prudence and I first started dating.

The first time I went to their house for dinner, Kevin didn't look at me once. Not a single glance from start to finish.

I'd brought cigarettes, a bottle of good liquor, a tin of premium tea. He had the housekeeper put it all away. He didn't open any of it.

At the table, he spoke only to Prudence. Asked about the company, asked which executives she'd been dining with lately. I might as well have been a piece of furniture.

Prudence told me afterward, "That's just how my dad is. Don't take it personally."

And I didn't.

I was too young back then. I believed that as long as two people loved each other, nothing else mattered.

Kevin didn't come to the wedding.

We held the ceremony in Riverside City. The Swansons booked half a hotel, dozens of tables packed with guests, the whole place buzzing with noise and celebration.

Prudence stood beside me in her wedding gown, smiling so beautifully it almost didn't seem real.

During the toasts, someone asked her where her father was.

She explained that he was out of town, tied up with a major deal he couldn't walk away from.

I found out later there was no deal. The company had nothing going on during that stretch.

He simply didn't want to come.

Because of me. Because his son-in-law wasn't worth showing up for his only daughter's wedding.

That night, after the last guests were gone, Prudence sat on the hotel bed still in her full makeup, eyes rimmed red.

I walked over and held her. She said she was sorry.

I told her it was fine.

And I meant it. I genuinely believed it was fine.

It was just a wedding, right?

We had a whole lifetime ahead of us. Sooner or later, I'd make him see me differently.

To prove myself, I quit my job.

I'd been doing well, too. A good position at a publicly traded company.

My supervisor valued me. My coworkers were great. Two more years and I'd have made manager.

But I quit anyway. Joined Grandwell Group, starting from the very bottom as a junior sales rep.

A lot of people didn't understand. They said I was asking for trouble.

My father-in-law's company. A son-in-law's identity.

Do well, and it's expected. Do poorly, and everything's your fault.

I told them I knew.

But what I knew even better was this: only by making something of myself on that stage would Kevin Swanson ever look at me as an equal.

I could handle hardship. I could swallow my pride.

Those first six months, I woke up at six every morning and didn't get home until eleven at night. I covered every street in Riverside City, walked into every office building. In summer, my dress shirts soaked through with sweat. In winter, my fingers went stiff from the cold. I never complained. Not once.

One time, I waited outside a client's office for three hours just to get a meeting. The receptionist felt bad for me and brought me a cup of water. I said thank you and kept standing there.

When the client finally came out and saw me, he paused. "You've got guts, kid."

That deal closed at one point eight million.

I drank with clients. Wine, whiskey, beer—whatever they poured, I drank. One night I drank until my stomach bled. Drove myself to the hospital at two in the morning, got an IV, and went back to work the next day.

Sales is a funny thing. Hard and simple at the same time.

The hard part is earning trust. The simple part is that if you genuinely look out for someone, they can feel it.

I never oversold. What I could offer, I offered. What I couldn't, I said so upfront.

Slowly, repeat clients piled up. Referrals kept coming in.

Through sheer, relentless effort, I was Grandwell's top salesman three years running.

At the annual awards banquet, Kevin sat at the head table, wineglass in hand, eyes on the stage.

I walked off after accepting my award, and only then did he give me a nod.

"Not bad. Keep it up."

Eight words. That was it.

Not even a smile.

I didn't let it bother me. I told myself I was doing this for me, not for him.

And deep down, I knew the truth. In his eyes, I was nothing.

Clients came because of Grandwell's reputation. Deals closed because of the company's resources.

I was just the errand boy.

It wasn't until last year, after Prudence insisted again and again, that he finally promoted me to supervisor.

The day I got the promotion, Prudence was thrilled. She said we should go out for dinner to celebrate.

I said sure, let's invite your dad too.

She said she'd asked. He said he was busy.

Busy. Always busy.

At dinner, Prudence kept putting food on my plate. "You're a supervisor now," she said. "You don't have to push yourself so hard anymore."

I told her I still needed to push. Supervisor wasn't the finish line.

She smiled but didn't say anything.

I knew what she wanted to say.

She wanted to say: You could push yourself for the rest of your life, and my father still wouldn't be satisfied.

For Prudence's sake, I never held anything against Kevin.

He was her father. That alone was reason enough to take whatever he threw at me.

Called me useless? Fine.

Said I married above my station? Fine.

Said my whole family was riding on his coattails? Fine.

I let it all roll off my back.

But humiliating my mother? That crossed the line.

I barely spoke during dinner. My mom was careful too, glancing up at me every now and then.

I knew what she wanted to ask but didn't dare.

Halfway through the meal, my phone rang.

It was Prudence.

I stared at her name on the screen. Didn't answer.

She called again.

I still didn't answer.

A moment later, a WhatsApp message came through.

"Rudolph, where are you?"

"I made that soup you love. When are you coming home?"

"Dad went too far earlier. I'm sorry on his behalf. Come home first, and we can talk it through."

"Rudolph, please don't be like this, okay?"

I didn't reply to any of it. I set my phone facedown on the table and kept eating.

Mom glanced at the phone, then at me. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and said nothing.

After dinner, I went out to the balcony for a smoke.

The phone buzzed again.

This time, I picked up.

"Rudolph." Prudence's voice came through, soft and gentle. "Where are you? Are you at your mom's?"

"I know today upset you."

"You know how my dad is. When his temper flares, he says whatever comes to mind."

"Don't take it to heart. Come home, and we'll talk."

"I'm not coming back," I said flatly.

A beat of silence.

"What did you say?"

"I said I'm not coming back." I ground the cigarette out. "Not tonight. Not ever."

"The divorce wasn't a joke."

Silence stretched on the other end for several seconds.

"Rudolph, don't do this." Her voice shifted, a thin edge of anger creeping in beneath the restraint. "I know you were humiliated today, but you can't just throw the word 'divorce' around like that."

"I'm not throwing it around."

"Then what do you want?" Her pitch climbed. "I already said I'd make up for the gift money. I apologized. What else? You want me to get on my knees?"

"No."

"Then come home. We'll talk it out."

"There's nothing to talk about."

I was about to hang up when a burst of noise erupted on the other end, like someone snatching the phone away.

Then Kevin Swanson's voice exploded through the speaker, so loud my eardrum ached.

"Rudolph, you ungrateful piece of trash!"

His voice was enormous, slurred with liquor.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I married my daughter off to you. I let you scrape by at my company. And now you've got the nerve to push back?"

I held the phone. Said nothing.

"A broke nobody. Some hick who crawled out of the sticks!"

"Your mother, that crippled old woman—if I hadn't taken pity on her, you think she'd have a job at Grandwell? You think she'd be pulling that paycheck? Twenty-eight hundred a month. I might as well have been tossing scraps to a beggar!"

"And today you had the gall to cop an attitude with me in my own office? You?"

The insults poured faster, one on top of the next, no room to get a word in.

"Let me tell you something, Rudolph. I've seen a hundred guys like you!"

"No talent, no connections. Just a thick skin and a willingness to leech."

"You think those sales awards were because of you? That was Grandwell's brand doing the heavy lifting!"

"Try it at another company. See how far you get. You'd be nothing. Less than nothing!"

"And you dare bring up divorce to my daughter? Go ahead! Divorce her! I'd love that!"

"Prudence stuck with a broke deadbeat like you—it's been killing me to watch!"

"Good riddance. I'll find her a real man from a real family. What are you, exactly?"

Through the speaker, I heard Prudence in the background, her voice low and pleading. "Dad, stop..."

"Stay out of this!"

Kevin barked her down, then turned back to the phone.

"Listen to me carefully, Rudolph. If you don't come back tonight, tomorrow I'll make sure you never work in this industry again!"

"You think Grandwell's clients belong to you? Those accounts? All I have to do is make one phone call, and we'll see how many of them still know your name."

"And that cripple mother of yours—she loves working so much? Fine. I'll put the word out to every company in Riverside City. Let's see who dares hire her!"

"One call from me, and she won't even find work sweeping streets. You think I'm bluffing?"

My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles went white.

"You've got ten minutes! If I don't see your sorry face in ten minutes, you just wait and see what happens!"

"I've been running this city for thirty years! There isn't a corner of Riverside where I don't have people!"

"You make my daughter unhappy, and I will crush you like the backwater mutt you are!"