But when Mandy was finally born, the elder Mrs. Delgado took her away immediately. I didn't even get to hold my daughter. Didn't even get to look at her.
Instead, I received a new command: Produce a male heir.
Before my stitches had healed, before I'd finished postpartum recovery, the old woman dragged me to the Delgado Ancestral Hall. Forced me to kneel on cold stone to "repent" for my failure.
"The Delgado family is a century-old dynasty. We need a male heir," she lectured, looking down at me with disdain. "I don't care who Evan plays with outside. But the legitimate grandson must come from your belly."
She threw a packet of herbs at me. "Drink this. And until you give birth to a son, you will come here every year to kowtow and beg the ancestors for forgiveness."
When Evan heard about it, he offered no comfort.
Instead, in front of his friends and the media, he lifted my shirt. Pointed at the jagged purple stretch marks on my stomach and laughed.
"Look at that," he sneered. "Hideous."