Seven months pregnant, I receive a strict order from my doctor: my placenta is low-lying, and I absolutely must not take a long, bumpy journey!
But my awful mother-in-law lays down the law in the family chat: “You’re taking the eight-hour high-speed train back to our hometown for New Year’s, no excuses. If you don’t come, it’s divorce. My son’s a graduate of a top university. He can find plenty of women to have his children!”
My husband, who never stops preaching about morality, not only plays dead and lets it happen, but is also caught on the midnight security footage plotting with his mistress: “Once she gives birth to the eldest grandson, I’ll take custody. Those few luxury homes in the capital that belong to her parents will be ours sooner or later!”
