The first time I met my mother-in-law Patricia, she looked me over the way someone examines something they are not sure they want in their house.
Not with curiosity. Not with warmth.
With suspicion.
At our wedding reception, she hugged Dave briefly, then turned to study me from head to toe and commented on my dress color.
It was white.
Apparently she had wanted to be the only woman wearing it that day.
In that single moment, I understood exactly what the years ahead were going to look like.
The Woman Who Ran Everything Like an Inspection
