Ever since I met Sloane’s father, Adam, I knew he didn’t think I was good enough for his daughter. He never said it directly, but his actions were always much louder than words.
From the first time I shook his hand, the man had found ways to undermine me, sneering at my job, casting doubt on my background, even questioning my family’s values.
“Are you sure your family doesn’t drink? Like your father? Your mother?” he said. “I need to know all of that before allowing my daughter to get into your family.”
And he would usually ask questions like this while he was pouring a whiskey for himself.
