Seven years. I'd thought that if I delivered results, things would eventually be different.
But in the end, to the Hensons, I was nothing more than a freeloader. A live-in son-in-law who'd married up.
Steve called me a deadbeat, a slacker. Valerie said I was a lost cause.
They'd said it right in front of Felicity.
She hadn't pushed back. Not once.
I opened the car door and flicked the cigarette butt into the trash can by the curb.
I thought about how I'd spent these past seven years.
The first year, Steve called me a "freeloader." I kept my mouth shut, telling myself that time would reveal my worth.
The second year, Valerie said I "wasn't good enough for the Henson family." I smiled it off, telling myself that all I had to do was prove myself at Henson Group.
The third year, I doubled Henson Group's revenue. At the dinner table, Otis said, "Good numbers this year." He didn't mention my name.
I told myself it was fine. He knew. That was enough.
The fourth year. The fifth. The sixth.
Every year was the same.