My father, who adored his granddaughter, still held onto a sliver of hope and nodded. "Alright, let's ask Marcia."
But who could have predicted what happened next? The moment Marcia heard the question, she burst into tears and threw herself into her grandmother's arms.
"No, no, no! I don't want Mommy's last name! Then Daddy and I won't be family anymore! The other kids will call me a bastard!"
The air froze.
My daughter was only seven years old. There was no way she'd come up with something like that on her own.
Unless someone had deliberately coached her.
The realization made my parents' faces turn even darker.
They never imagined the granddaughter they'd showered with love would reject them so completely.
My mother, worried that my emotional state would affect my milk supply, forced herself to stay calm. "Let's drop it for now. We'll figure it out later. Greta, just focus on your recovery."
Irvin visibly relaxed. "Yes, yes, Mom's right. No matter whose name the baby takes, he's still mine and Greta's child!"
My parents said nothing.
That afternoon, they left, saying the factory needed them.
The moment they were gone, my mother-in-law started in with her snide remarks.