From nowhere, my sister suddenly ran out and yelled, “Leigh, I’ve told you again and again to value your marriage! Look at you! Having abortions eight times before marriage was bad enough, but even after getting married, you’re still so trashy! What man could take that? Hurry up and give Waylon to me, only a decent woman like me deserves him!”
Looking at their disgusting, well-practiced faces and hearing the whispers around me, anger made me laugh.
When Waylon and I got married, my mother and sister looked down on his poverty, chased him away with a broom, splashed him with cold water, and shouted at the door that he would stay a beggar forever.
Because we were poor, we had no wedding, no banquet, and my mother didn’t even give me a cent of dowry.
Now that he’s proven himself at work and become the deputy general manager of the company, they shamelessly want to take my husband.
When I stayed silent, my mother tried to hit me again, but before her hand could fall, someone caught her wrist.
As I lifted my head to see who it was, my eyes turned red in an instant.