Each blade required weeks of forging, tempering, polishing, and finishing by hand.
Brian’s own restaurant had used my father’s knives for years.
Without paying a dollar.
I had brought them into the kitchen.
Just as I had brought in several of his best suppliers.
Just as I had created much of The Hearth’s original menu.
Just as I had repeatedly rescued its finances when Brian’s decisions pushed it toward collapse.
He called all of that “helping your husband.”
I had barely entered the Grand Plaza lobby when my phone rang again.
Brian.
“Samantha, I’m outside your father’s workshop.”
I stopped walking.
“What are you doing there?”
“I’m going to explain exactly what kind of daughter he raised.”
My stomach tightened.
“If you don’t want me humiliating him in front of his customers, you have thirty minutes to get to Mom’s house.”
