The Beginning of the Tradition
It was Easter Sunday, and as usual, the house was filled with the overwhelming scent of delicious food—ham, mashed potatoes, rolls, green bean casserole, and all the trimmings that come with an Easter feast. But it wasn’t just the food that had me bracing for what was about to come. It was the yearly gathering of my husband Carter’s family.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Carter more than anything, but his family? That’s a different story. They’ve never really accepted me as part of the family. From the moment I married him, I felt the weight of their judgment, their passive-aggressive comments, and their constant undermining of every little thing I did. It wasn’t enough that I was Carter’s wife; no, in their eyes, I had to prove myself worthy. And Easter was always the big test.
