Suddenly, my father-in-law's face turned pale. He grabbed his wine glass and threw it at me, yelling, "Get out! Get out now! I don't have a son-in-law like you!"
My mother-in-law even swung a mop and kicked me out.
Before slamming the door, she shouted her final words, "You Jerk! In seven days, we'll expose you completely on our show. Get ready to leave with nothing!"
As the former director of a TV station and a retired chief editor of a famous media outlet, they certainly had the power to do it.
Outside, the sky was gray and a light rain drizzled down, reflecting my mood.
My parents immediately texted me.
[Have you lost your mind? Why ruin a good life? What the hell are you doing?]
[Apologize to Cynthia's family right now. If you don't, don't come home! We don't have a son like you!]
Realizing how angry they were, I could only smile bitterly. I didn't go to apologize. Instead, I walked through the rain to the hospital.
While the doctor was bandaging my wound, I finally got a call from my childhood friend, Sue Sylvester.
"I walked around the shop where Cynthia bought her croissants. It was pretty interesting," she reported on the other end.