"Hmph! Couldn't get out of here fast enough! The second they heard the grandson wasn't changing his name—no advantage to squeeze out—they bolted!"
My husband gave an awkward laugh and made a half-hearted attempt. "Mom, don't say that. Greta's parents really are busy with the factory."
I couldn't take it anymore and fired back:
"They sure are busy! After all, everything this family eats, uses, and lives in comes from my parents' money!"
My mother-in-law's face flushed crimson, her neck mottling with rage at being called out.
She was about to explode when the maternity nurse came over to remind me it was time to breastfeed.
I turned and lay down without a second glance, my voice ice-cold.
"Can't feed. Too angry. My milk's blocked."
She tried to charge over to argue, but Irvin pulled her out of the room.
Irvin and I had married for love.
Back then, when my friends found out that I—an only daughter from a wealthy Jiangnan family—was actually going to marry into some rural inland village, their jaws nearly hit the floor.
They took turns trying to talk sense into me, saying that even if I insisted on marrying him, he should at least take my family name.