She smiled.

“I’m trying to help you adjust.”

I nodded once.

Then I stood.

What happened next was fast, stupid, and completely unnecessary.

I slapped her.

Once.

The room went silent.

Tatum grabbed her cheek.

Vance jumped between us before she could charge forward.

Loretta shot out of her chair.

“ARE YOU INSANE?”

I looked at Tatum.

“She wanted to teach me her rules.”

Then I looked at Loretta.

“Consider that my extremely bad introduction to mine.”

Vance stared at me.

“Sloane, that was completely out of line.”

That sentence did more damage than the entire dinner.

I held up my hand.

The welt from Tatum’s fork was still there.

“She hit me first.”

“She tapped you.”

“With metal silverware.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why?”

He had nothing.

“You saw her do it?”

Silence.

“Vance.”

“Yes.”

“And you said nothing.”

“I told you not to make a scene.”

I laughed.

“So she gets to hit me quietly, and I’m responsible for maintaining the ambiance?”

Loretta slammed her palm down.

“This is our home.”

I faced her.

“Loretta.”

Her expression changed immediately.

No “Mom.”

No polite daughter-in-law performance.

“Loretta, marrying Vance did not make me your employee. I have parents. I have a career. I manage my own finances. And the condo your son lives in belongs to me.”

Tatum rolled her eyes.

I pointed toward her.

“She is twenty-seven years old. If you want to treat her like she still needs a Disney princess lunchbox, go ahead.”

Tatum started shouting.

I kept talking.

“But she doesn’t touch me again. If she does, I don’t respond physically. I call Chicago police and let everyone explain their family traditions to an officer.”

Loretta looked at Vance.

“Do you hear your wife threatening us?”

I picked up my purse.

“Enjoy dinner.”

Vance followed me outside.

“Sloane, stop.”

I kept walking.

He grabbed my arm.

I pulled free.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Leaving.”

“You can’t just walk out.”

“Why? Did somebody assign me dishes?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Come back inside. Say something nice to Tatum. I’ll get her to apologize too.”

“Why do I go first?”

“Because you’re older.”

I stared at him.

“So your sister attacks me, and I should be mature. Your sister insults me, and I should be mature. Your sister demands control over our finances, and I should be mature.”

He sighed.

“You’re making this impossible.”

“No. Your family created a system where the most reasonable person is expected to surrender first.”

I opened Uber.

The ride back to River North cost me sixty dollars.

Worth every cent.

My phone vibrated almost the entire way.

Loretta.

Tatum.

Marilyn.

Jolene.

Even Harlan sent me a diplomatic little message asking me not to upset “the older generation.”

Apparently everyone’s feelings mattered.

Except mine.

Vance arrived home around ten.

I was removing my makeup.

He stood in the bathroom doorway.

“My mom’s blood pressure went through the roof.”

“You should’ve taken her to Northwestern.”

His jaw tightened.

“We’ve been married five days, Sloane. Why are you creating this kind of toxicity?”

I turned.

“Who hit whom first?”

He rolled his eyes.

“We’re still doing this?”

“Yes.”

He launched into the speech he had clearly rehearsed in the car.

Tomorrow, we would buy pastries.

We would drive to Oak Brook.

I would say my pride got the better of me.

Then Vance would “talk to Tatum.”

I stared at him.

“Five days.”

“What?”

“We’ve been married five days.”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.”

He frowned.

“Why is that perfect?”

“Because I got to find out how you handle conflict between your wife and your mother before we wasted five years.”

He went still.

I walked to the closet.

Pulled out his pillow.

Dropped it in the guest room.

“You’re sleeping there.”

He exploded.

“You’re destroying our marriage over seafood!”

“No.”

I looked directly at him.

“The seafood was the test.”

He stopped yelling.

“Your family tested whether they could disrespect me while you watched.”

I pointed toward the guest room.

“They finished their test.”

“Now I’m running mine.”

The next morning, Loretta sent me a twenty-seven-second voice memo.

I played it over coffee.

“Sloane, every family has rules. Since you married my Vance, you two should keep a reasonable personal allowance and deposit the rest of your paychecks into my account. Young people don’t understand saving. I’ll manage the money.”

I replayed it.

Then once more.

At 7:30, Vance walked into the kitchen.

I slid my phone across the island.

“Listen.”

He did.

When it finished, I waited.

His response?

“It’s generational.”

I almost admired the creativity.

I was twenty-nine.

I had worked seven years at a top consulting firm.

My River North mortgage had been paid off early.

My investment accounts were healthy.