Everyone in our social circle knew that his true financial support came from his father, Frank Peterson, who served as the powerful director of Public Works for our local municipality. My mother in law, Martha Peterson, was a very quiet and reserved woman who was always dressed impeccably and possessed an uncanny ability to prepare massive, elaborate Sunday roasts as if she were feeding an entire battalion.
From the very moment we got married, there was one non negotiable rule established by the family: on the first Saturday of every month, we were required to have dinner at their large estate. “Family is completely non negotiable,” Frank used to say with a heavy, demanding tone that left no room for any arguments.
The first time it happened was back in April, when Martha prepared a rich beef broth served with seasonal vegetables, sides of seasoned rice, and large glasses of iced hibiscus tea. Frank personally walked over to the table and served me an exceptionally deep bowl, his eyes fixed on me with a strange intensity.
