Chapter 34 Olivia
OLIVIA
The dining room feels like a stage set for torture. Mom has gone above and beyond and pulled out the good china—the Wedgwood with the gold trim that only appears for “special occasions.” Translation: when she wants to impress someone who matters.
Stefan sits across from me, his face neutral as he carves up his chicken. Dad pours, Mom titters, and we all exchange polite jokes and stories, as if this isn’t the biggest farce of all time.
“The chicken is excellent, Margaret,” Stefan says politely.
My mother preens. “It’s a family recipe. Passed down from my grandmother.”
That’s a lie. She got it from the Food Network three years ago. I watched her practice it four times before a hospital potluck, scraping the less-than-satisfactory outcomes straight into the garbage can.
“Speaking of family,” Margaret says, passing the potatoes with a smile that makes my stomach drop. “Some would say that, given there’s about to be a baby, marriage is the next logical step.”
“Mom!” I cry out as my cheeks burn.
Stefan’s hand pauses halfway to his water glass.
“What?” Margaret blinks innocently. “I’m simply stating facts. You’re pregnant. Stefan is the father. In my day, that meant wedding bells.”
“Your day was the Stone Age,” I mutter.
“Don’t be dramatic, Olivia.” She turns back to Stefan. “I assure you, my daughter is a worthy investment. Don’t let the fact that you’ve had to bail her out a few times deter you.”
The chicken turns to sawdust in my mouth. “Mother—”
“She has her challenges, of course. Too headstrong for her own good. But with the right guidance...” She trails off meaningfully.
Stefan sets down his fork. “Olivia doesn’t need guidance. She’s one of the most capable people I know.”
“How sweet of you to say.” Margaret’s smile sharpens. “Though we both know her clinic would have folded without your intervention.”
“That’s not—”
“Oh, please.” She cuts me off without even looking at me. “Stefan saved your little practice. It’s ungrateful to deny it, Olivia.”
Dad shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t intervene.
“She’s too stubborn to just accept that she’ll make a wonderful stay-at-home wife,” Margaret continues, spearing a piece of asparagus. “She needs to stick to her strengths. Not all of us are made to be career women.”
“I graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Medical School,” I say quietly.
“Yes, dear. We all remember. You’ve mentioned it enough times.” She pats my hand condescendingly. “But academic success doesn’t always translate to real-world achievement, does it?”
Stefan’s knuckles are white around his knife.
“Perhaps Stefan could help you transition to something more suitable,” Margaret suggests. “Charity work, maybe. Something that won’t be quite so taxing.”
“Taxing?” I ask miserably.
“Well, you’ll have a baby soon. You can’t possibly think you’ll manage both motherhood and that clinic, can you? Something will have to give.”
“Margaret.” That’s Stefan speaking, and that’s the quiet, dangerous voice he uses when something absolutely cutthroat is about to happen.
She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care. “I’m only being practical. Olivia has always had these grand ambitions, but look where they’ve gotten her. If Stefan hadn’t come along—”
The slap of Stefan’s napkin hitting the table makes everyone jump. He stands, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor.
“Stefan, don’t—” I start, but he’s already moving.
“Dr. Aster.” His snarl is ice. Pure, crystalline, frostbite-on-first-contact ice. “Let me be very clear about something.”
Mom’s eyes widen. Dad sets down his wine glass.
“Olivia is brilliant,” he continues. “Graduating at the top of her class wasn’t about memorizing textbooks or sucking up to professors.
It was because she sees things you are incapable of seeing.
Medicine is about people, goddammit, not fucking handshakes and charity galas.
She built her clinic from nothing—twice—because she actually gives a damn about what she does. ”
“Stefan—” I try again, but he’s not done.
“She works eighteen-hour days. She works herself to the bone for her clients, again and again, because she has a fucking soul. She tries harder than anyone I’ve ever met.
And she did all of this while you—” He points an accusatory finger at Margaret.
“—told her again and again that she was failing.”
Margaret’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“She doesn’t need my money. She doesn’t need your approval. And she certainly doesn’t need to be told to ‘stick to her strengths’ by someone who’s never built anything in her life except a reputation for snub-nosed cruelty.”
“How dare you—”
“I’m not finished.” Stefan’s voice drops even lower. “If you expect to be a part of our lives, then I’ll thank you to watch how you speak to my wife in the future.”
Wife.
He just called me his wife.
Margaret’s face goes pale, then red. Dad’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline.
Stefan doesn’t seem to notice what he’s said. He turns to me, extends his hand.
“We’re leaving.”
I don’t hesitate. I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet.
“Olivia, sit down,” Margaret commands.
“No.”
It comes out stronger than I expected. Clearer.
Stefan’s hand tightens around mine.
“If you walk out that door—” Margaret starts.
“What?” I turn back to face her. “You’ll cut me off? Disown me? Stop talking to me?” I laugh at her. “You’ve been doing that my whole life, Mother. The only difference is that now, I’m choosing it.”
We leave our plates half-full, our wine glasses untouched. Stefan grabs my coat from the hall closet and helps me into it with surprising gentleness given the fury radiating off him.
The door slams behind us.
The night air is sharp, clean. I breathe it in like I’ve been drowning.
Stefan still has my hand. He pulls me toward the car, his stride so long I have to half-jog to keep up. He opens the passenger door, waits for me to get in, then slams it hard enough to rattle the windows.
When he gets in on the driver’s side, his hands are shaking. He starts the engine and rips away from the curb too fast. The tires squeal.
“I can’t believe her. I can’t fucking believe—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “How does she talk to you like that? Her own daughter?”
“She’s always been that way.”
“No. Don’t make excuses for her.” His hands tighten on the wheel. “She’s toxic. She’s poison. She sits there in her perfect house with her perfect life and tears you down because it makes her feel powerful.”
We’re driving too fast. The speedometer creeps past sixty in a thirty-five zone.
“Stefan, you need to slow down.”
“And your father just sits there. Says nothing. Does nothing. What kind of man—”
“Stefan.” I put my hand on his arm. “Pull over.”
“What?”
“You’re too angry to drive. Pull over.”
He looks at me, then at the speedometer, then acknowledges that I’m probably right. His foot eases off the gas.
There’s a small playground ahead. He turns into the empty parking lot and puts the car in park, but doesn’t turn off the engine. His hands are still gripping the steering wheel.
“She had no right,” he says quietly. “No fucking right to talk to you that way.”
“She’s my mother. She thinks that gives her the right to say whatever she wants.”
“It doesn’t.” He turns to look at me. “You know that, right? Nothing she said in there was true.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you just sat there and took it.”
“What was I supposed to do? Fight back? Make a scene?” I shake my head. “I learned a long time ago that there’s no winning with her.”
“So you just give up?”
“I pick my battles.”
“This should have been one of them.”
I shake my head. “I’ve heard it all before, Stefan. Fighting back just gives her more ammunition.”
“Not anymore.” His face is still glowing with rage. “I won’t let her talk to you that way. Not in front of me. Not ever.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. “You called me your wife.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Back there. You told her to ‘watch how she speaks to your wife.’”
His eyes widen. “I didn’t—” He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
“Olivia—”
“It’s okay. Actually, it was...” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
Perfect. Wonderful. Everything I didn’t know I wanted to hear.
“You defended me,” I say instead. “No one’s ever done that before. Not like that.”
He looks at me like I’ve said something impossible. “What do you mean?”
“I mean no one’s ever stood up to her for me. Dad doesn’t. My friends don’t. Even I don’t, not really.” I meet his eyes. “But you did.”
“She was out of line.”
“She’s always out of line. But you’re the first person who’s ever called her on it.”
His hand releases the steering wheel, reaches across the console. His fingers find mine.
“You’re brilliant,” he says softly. “You’re dedicated. You’re compassionate. You built something amazing from nothing, and you did it without compromising your values. Your mother is too small-minded to see that, but I’m not.”
My throat tightens. “Stefan—”
“I meant what I said in there. Every word.”
The warmth in my chest spreads, filling all the cold, empty spaces Margaret’s words left behind. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to thank me for telling the truth.”
“Yes, I do.” I unbuckle my seatbelt, turn toward him. “But I’d rather show you than tell you.”
His brow furrows. “What do you—”
I lean across the console, my hand sliding up his thigh.
“Olivia.” His voice is strained. “We’re at a playground parking lot.”
“It’s empty.” My fingers find his belt buckle. “And dark.”
“Someone could—”
“Let them.” I work the belt open, move to his zipper. “I want to thank you properly.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I look up at him through my lashes. “Please?”
His breath catches. His hand tangles in my hair.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Show me just how grateful you are.”