By the time he finished, my husband looked ready to murder someone.
"That ungrateful little b***h!" He swept everything off his desk in a rage. Papers flew. Inkwells shattered. "Who does she think she is? Demanding money we don't have?"
I stood in the corner, watching the chaos with secret satisfaction.
This was all Juliette's fault. That horrible, scheming girl who couldn't just accept her place and be grateful for what she had. She had to dig into the past. Had to make demands. Had to threaten the very family that raised her.
"I always knew she was trouble," I said, shaking my head sadly. "Just like her mother. Stubborn. Domineering. Unable to let sleeping dogs lie."
My husband's head snapped toward me.
Something in his eyes made me pause.
"My daughter," I continued carefully, "wo
