Right after giving birth to my second child, my parents rushed over from their hometown and transferred $88,000 as a gift for the baby.

My husband smiled and said, "Mom and Dad are so generous to their grandson."

My parents and I exchanged glances, all of us stunned.

"Irvin Cobb, what do you mean? Didn't we agree the second child would take my surname? Why are you calling him your grandson?" My face darkened immediately.

Before my husband could respond, my mother-in-law jumped in.

"Absolutely not! Baby Abbott is a boy! He's going to carry on the Cobb family name—how could he possibly take your surname!"

My parents' expressions turned cold.

Their good upbringing and manners were the only things keeping them from exploding.

But I couldn't hold back.

"Irvin! Is this what you want, or what your mother wants?"

My husband looked at me, stammering, "W-well, what if we changed Marcia Pruitt's surname to yours instead?"

The moment those words left his mouth, the room went dead silent.

I laughed in disbelief.

"Fine!"

"Then let our daughter take my name!"

...

Hearing this, my mother-in-law's eyes went wide.

"What? Take your name? Irvin, have you lost your mind? Letting your daughter take someone else's surname! Your father would kill you!"

She kept going on about ancestral traditions, how children must take their father's name.

My mother took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

"Brooklyn Cobb, times have changed. Children taking their mother's surname is perfectly common now. Greta Pruitt is our only daughter—we just want something to carry on our family too."

My mother-in-law scoffed, looking my mother up and down with disdain.

"Oh, carry on? How noble that sounds! You just couldn't produce a son yourself, so now you want to steal our Cobb family's grandson to take care of you in your old age? Not a chance!"

"You—how can you say such things!" My mother was shaking with anger. My father quickly steadied her, his face like thunder.

Fury surged through me. I turned to Irvin, who was shrinking into the corner, and shouted:

"We agreed the second child would take my name! What is your mother playing at?"

Irvin's eyes darted away, stammering for what felt like forever. "W-well, why don't we ask Marcia what she thinks?"

I couldn't believe my ears.

He wanted to put this decision on a child?

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.

"Hmph! Couldn't get out of here fast enough! The second they heard the grandson wasn't changing his name—no advantage to squeeze out—they bolted!"

My husband gave an awkward laugh and made a half-hearted attempt. "Mom, don't say that. Greta's parents really are busy with the factory."

I couldn't take it anymore and fired back:

"They sure are busy! After all, everything this family eats, uses, and lives in comes from my parents' money!"

My mother-in-law's face flushed crimson, her neck mottling with rage at being called out.

She was about to explode when the maternity nurse came over to remind me it was time to breastfeed.

I turned and lay down without a second glance, my voice ice-cold.

"Can't feed. Too angry. My milk's blocked."

She tried to charge over to argue, but Irvin pulled her out of the room.

Irvin and I had married for love.

Back then, when my friends found out that I—an only daughter from a wealthy Jiangnan family—was actually going to marry into some rural inland village, their jaws nearly hit the floor.

They took turns trying to talk sense into me, saying that even if I insisted on marrying him, he should at least take my family name.

But the word "uxorilocal" was something Irvin couldn't bear to hear.

"Greta, I'm the only son in my family. My parents are counting on me. I can't leave them!"

And I, drowning in lovesick stupidity, ignored my parents' tears and my friends' warnings and followed him back to his hometown.

Reality slapped me hard across the face.

After the wedding, the hillside farm he and his parents had contracted lost money year after year. My parents were the ones keeping them afloat.

All those promises he'd made when we were dating—"We'll have two kids, one takes each surname"—turned out to be nothing but lies from the very beginning.

His whole family had planned from the start to leech off mine.

The more I thought about it, the tighter the knot in my chest became, until it physically ached.

I don't know how long I lay there before the door creaked open.

Irvin walked in carrying a container of soup dumplings—my favorite.

"Honey, still mad? I just got Marcia to sleep. She cried her heart out, absolutely refuses to change her name."

I laughed coldly to myself.

"You're right. Changing names is such a hassle—so much paperwork to redo."

His face lit up instantly.

"Exactly! See, honey, I knew you'd come around. You've always been so reasonable—"

"So," I cut him off, my voice flat, "it'll be much easier to just change Baby's name instead. Like we originally agreed. He'll be Abbott Pruitt."

The smile froze on Irvin's face. He shot to his feet, his voice cracking with anger.

"Absolutely not!"

When I just stared at him coldly without responding, he forced himself to calm down, switching to a tone of pained sincerity.

"Greta, be reasonable here. My family has had only sons for three generations! If Baby takes your surname, our family line ends. How am I supposed to face our relatives? How are my parents supposed to hold their heads up?"

I took a deep breath. "So when you promised my parents—two children, one surname each—that was all bullshit?"

Confronted with the accusation, Irvin's face turned the color of raw liver.

"Greta Pruitt! Why do you have to be so aggressive? That's not the same thing at all! Besides, if you'd been capable of giving me a son the first time, we wouldn't be dealing with any of this!"

My blood turned to ice.

"Irvin, do you have any basic knowledge of biology? The father's chromosomes determine the baby's sex!"

He had no comeback for that.

Instead, he kicked the chair beside him with all his strength. The crash was loud enough to wake Baby, who burst into wails.

I watched him storm out, and my heart sank to the bottom of a pit.

This was the man I'd given two children to.

Because I refused to back down, Irvin finally agreed to change our daughter's name.

I didn't trust him to handle it alone, so I asked my best friend Elena to go with him and supervise every step of the paperwork.

"Don't worry, I watched him do everything myself. Look—it's done. Changed from Marcia Cobb to Marcia Pruitt."

That afternoon, Elena came back with the brand-new household registration.

I nodded with satisfaction. The weight that had been pressing on my chest for days finally began to lift.

"Elena Lambert, thank you so much for all your help. Stay for dinner—I'll have the housekeeper make a few extra dishes."

But Elena's eyes darted away, and she smiled as she declined. "Oh, no, I couldn't. I have plans tonight."

Seeing the bashful look on her face, I couldn't resist teasing her.

"It's a man, isn't it? Come on, spill—have you finally found yourself a boyfriend?"

"Oh, stop! It's way too early to say anything. But the moment it's official, you'll be the first to know."

Her voice was coy, and she unconsciously shifted the bag in her hands behind her back.

It was a new designer handbag from a luxury brand—far beyond her usual budget.

A flicker of something unsettled passed through me, but the joy of successfully changing my daughter's surname pushed it aside.

"Alright, go on then." I turned to my husband, who had been standing silently nearby. "Irvin, drive Elena home. She's been such a big help."

Irvin grunted in acknowledgment, his expression still sullen. "Let's go."

The next morning, I woke early, my breasts aching with milk. That's when I heard a faint sound at the front door.

I pulled on a robe and got up just in time to see Irvin stepping inside.

Suspicion stirred in my chest, but I kept my face neutral. "You're up early. Did you go out, or are you just getting back?"

He froze for a split second, then forced a tired smile.

"Boss called an emergency meeting last night. Kept us there all night—I just crashed on the office couch for a bit. Figured I'd grab you those soup dumplings you love on my way home."

I nodded and didn't press further.

His family's orchard back in his hometown had been bleeding money for years. It was only after I'd suggested it countless times that he'd reluctantly taken a regular job. But with his mediocre skills and inflated ego, work hadn't exactly been going well for him.

"Honey, there's something I wanted to run by you."

Irvin's sudden words put me on alert. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be good.

"Go ahead."

"So, Baby's one-month celebration is coming up. I was thinking—we should really do it up right, you know? Make it a big event!"

I frowned immediately. "He's just a baby. Something simple is fine. Besides, we didn't even throw a party when Marcia turned one month old."

Irvin's response was almost reflexive. "That's completely different!"

The moment the words left his mouth and he saw my expression darken, he scrambled to explain.

"I mean—because we didn't do it for Marcia, we should definitely do it for Baby! Plus, think about all the gift money my parents have given out over the years at other people's celebrations. This is our chance to get some of that back!"

I stared at his calculating face, cold amusement rising in my chest. "Fine. If you want to throw a party, throw one."

A flash of triumph crossed Irvin's face before it was quickly replaced by a look of difficulty.

"The thing is, honey... you know my parents don't have any savings. So I was wondering—could your parents maybe help us out with fifty thousand dollars?"

"Fifty thousand?" My head snapped up. "Irvin, have you lost your mind? Fifty thousand for a one-month celebration?"

Irvin's brow furrowed with irritation. "This is the first grandson of the Cobb family! Are we supposed to make it look cheap?"

"My parents' money is money they worked hard for! It's not there to fund your ego or fill the bottomless pit that is your family!"

I fought to keep my anger in check, my voice turning to ice.

"I agreed to the party. But the money? Figure it out yourself. I'm not asking them."

Irvin's face twisted with barely contained rage. He glared at me for a long moment before finally grinding out through clenched teeth:

"Fine! Greta, you're heartless!"

Irvin went ahead and booked the best hotel in the city for Baby's celebration without consulting me.

The day I walked past, he and Brooklyn were at the table, counting through the invitation list together.

I glanced over—and realized my parents' names were nowhere on it.

"Irvin! You didn't invite my parents to our son's one-month celebration?!"