My mouth hung open. I couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth.
My husband was shaking with rage, his finger pointed at her, but not a single word came out.
She glanced at the two of us. Maybe even she realized she'd gone too far, because she cleared her throat:
"Anyway, I need to head over to my mother-in-law's. She's had a cold the last couple days, and I should take care of her."
As she spoke, she packed up all the breakfast on the table:
"There's too much here for just the two of you. I'll bring it over and eat with my in-laws."
"Let me know when you've made up your minds, and I'll delete the video."
Then she left, breakfast in hand.
I looked down at my granddaughter in my arms, and my nose stung with the threat of tears.
Before she met Desmond, Summer had always been such a good girl.
Then she came back from studying abroad and met him. No car, no house, no savings, and yet she insisted he was the only one she'd marry.
Even if it meant squeezing into a cramped five-hundred-square-foot apartment with Desmond's parents, Summer was willing.
When we refused, she threw fits. She cried, she screamed, she even stopped eating.
We had no choice. We gave in.