"Call Summer. Tell her to come home right now. I need to set things straight with her once and for all."
My husband could barely get the words out between gasps.
Terrified something would happen to him, I grabbed my phone and called Summer.
Four calls. Five. Not a single one answered.
Meanwhile, his phone kept buzzing nonstop with hateful messages and harassing calls.
He snatched the vase off the table and smashed it down onto the phone. The moment the porcelain shattered, he collapsed.
I dialed 911 and got him to the hospital.
With no way to reach Summer, I had to ask my sister to watch our granddaughter for now.
At the hospital, the doctor said his blood pressure had spiked dangerously from the stress. He needed emergency surgery.
I tried calling Summer again. The line was dead. She had blocked me.
I went to send her a message and saw she'd just posted on social media.
A photo of a bowl of plain noodles. The caption read: "My mother-in-law made these for me with her own hands. She loves me ten thousand times more than my real mom ever did."
I stared at that post, sitting outside the operating room, and the tears came. I couldn't stop them.