"Grandma, she’s not the only one who can give Uncle a baby," Vivian whispered, her gaze flickering toward Marcus before quickly looking away.
I snapped back to reality, silently sipping my chicken soup. The chickens I raised myself—so even the broth tasted richer than anything outside.
Marcus' brows furrowed at her words. "My child will only be born by Lila."
Then, turning to his mother, he added, "Mom, stop pressuring Lila. We’re already planning for a baby. Maybe she’s already pregnant."
The old lady beamed with joy.
She eagerly ladled me another bowl of soup. "Lila, drink more! You’ll need the strength to give me a big, healthy grandson."
"Don’t worry about the wedding. Leave everything to Marcus. You just focus on resting and being a beautiful bride."
She was practically glowing, as if I were already pregnant.
What a joke.
"Grandma, I’ll go help at Uncle’s house!" Vivian chirped, her tone far too eager.
Ever since she moved to the city, she had been itching to live in our house.
"What can a child like you possibly help with?" The old lady muttered, debating whether to let her go.