Everyone said I was lucky to have married into one of the most powerful families in Beijing.
My in-laws treated me like their own daughter, and my husband doted on me.
I once thought we'd be happy for the rest of our lives.
That was until I gave birth to a son and, when I couldn't produce enough breast milk, made him a bottle of formula.
Because of that, they said I had postpartum depression and wanted to poison the Song family's precious heir.
The husband who once told me, "Baby, it breaks my heart when you frown," shoved me into the dryer with his own hands.
He gripped my chin, his voice icy.
"Stay in there and come to your senses."
"Think about what you did wrong, then you can come out!"
I heard them hurriedly carry our crying baby out, saying they were going to find him a wet nurse.
But they forgot that this was a high-tech military-grade dryer made in America.
Once its smart lock was engaged from the outside, there was no way to open it from within.
