Instead, he drove forty minutes through terrible traffic, brought me a hot chocolate, and stayed with me until the mechanic arrived.
When I apologized for ruining his evening, he looked at me as if I’d said something ridiculous.
“Chloe, you needed help. Why would that ruin my evening?”
That was the man I fell in love with.
Unfortunately, Ryan came with a complication.
His mother.
Patricia Mitchell was elegant, wealthy, and accustomed to getting her way. She lived in a beautiful house with a spotless kitchen, expensive furniture, and photographs of Ryan covering almost every wall.
Her husband had left when Ryan was eight.
According to Patricia, she had sacrificed everything to raise her son alone.
“I gave him my entire life,” she told me during our first dinner together. “Everything I did was for Ryan.”
I admired her dedication.
I didn’t yet understand that she considered that dedication a debt her son would spend the rest of his life repaying.
