Because neither of us wanted our daughter to ever feel like her love was being divided.

And now my precious girl, the one I'd held so carefully all her life, afraid she'd melt on my tongue or shatter in my hands, had fabricated those vicious lies for the whole world to see.

My eyes burned red. I lowered my head and wiped away the tears.

My husband couldn't take it. He stood up, ready to march over and demand an explanation.

I grabbed his arm and pointed at the clock on the wall.

"Look at the time. Summer's been asleep for hours."

"Maybe there's some kind of misunderstanding. One more night won't hurt. We'll ask her in the morning."

He turned his head away and let out a long breath.

"Fine. But tomorrow I'm getting a straight answer."

"What did we ever do wrong to make her drag us through the mud like that?"

I shook my head and motioned for him to turn off the light.

That night, we tossed and turned. Neither of us slept.

The next morning, the two of us sat at the dining table with dark circles under our eyes. Spread across the table was every breakfast dish Summer loved.

We waited until eight o'clock, when our granddaughter's cries finally drifted out from the master bedroom.

Only then did Summer come out, carrying the baby in her arms.

She dumped our granddaughter into my lap, grabbed her jacket, and headed straight for the door.

"Stop right there."

My husband's voice wasn't loud, but it was heavy enough to freeze the room.

Summer flinched and turned around, irritation already twisting her face.

"Dad, what are you yelling for? You scared me."

I tugged my husband's sleeve and passed the baby into his arms.

"Summer, wait a moment. Your father and I need to talk to you."

She was about to snap, but something flickered behind her eyes. They lit up instantly.

"Mom, did you and Dad finally come around? Are you transferring the company shares to Desmond Finch?"

My heart dropped. So that was what this was about.

Before I could even process the thought, Summer had already latched onto my arm, beaming.

"When are we going to handle the paperwork?"

I shook my head and quietly pushed her hand away.

"Summer, that's not what this is about."

Her face changed in an instant, her voice sharp with impatience.

"Then what is it? Spit it out."

I took out my phone and showed her the video.

"Summer, you posted this, didn't you."

I expected panic. An explanation. Something.

But Summer barely glanced at my screen before shrugging.

"Yeah. That was me."

My nails dug into my palms. My voice shook.

"Why would you post something like that?"

She picked up a shrimp dumpling from the table and bit into it, casual as anything.

"I was just messing around. Not my fault those idiots actually believed it."

"Messing around? You made up lies about your own parents and posted them online for fun?"

"Have you read those comments? Have you seen what they're saying about your mother and me? Are you trying to kill us? Delete it. Now. And post a video setting the record straight."

My husband shot to his feet and slammed his palm on the table.

The baby in his arms burst into wailing sobs. Summer flinched.

She tossed the half-eaten dumpling onto the table.

"What are you screaming about?"

"Fine, I'll delete it. But only if you transfer the company shares to Desmond."

I stared at my daughter's flushed face, searching for even a trace of guilt. There was nothing.

I shook my head, defeated, and took the baby back from my husband's arms, rocking her gently.

"Summer, your father and I have told you a hundred times. When we're gone, the company will be yours."

"And Desmond is already the general manager. Now he wants the shares too? Don't you think that's a little greedy?"

Summer crossed her arms and looked at me sideways.

"You two always know how to make yourselves sound good."

"That general manager title is a joke. Every decision, big or small, still has to go through Dad. What kind of general manager is that?"

"You keep saying 'when we're dead, it'll all be yours.' What if I die before you? Who am I supposed to take it up with then?"

"What, am I supposed to wait underground for you to burn it all down to me?"

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.

There was no bride price. Afraid our daughter would suffer, we put up a million-dollar dowry ourselves, bought them a luxury condo downtown, and paid for the entire wedding out of our own pockets.

Summer said jobs were hard to find, so my husband stepped back and gave Desmond the general manager position at the company.

But neither of them ever showed a shred of gratitude. They even complained daily that we weren't as good to them as Desmond's parents were.

Eudora made her one batch of homemade ravioli, and Summer wept like she'd been shown the kindness of a lifetime.

Everything we did was just "expected."

Because our family had more money than theirs.

The more I thought about it, the less I could hold back. I turned my head away and cried.

My husband sighed and rested a hand on my shoulder:

"All these years, we spoiled her rotten."

"She doesn't understand what we've done for her. And Desmond, the way he's been running things at the company these past few years, he thinks I don't know."

"No talent, big temper. If I hadn't kept a tight grip on the reins, he would've driven the company into the ground years ago."

"He wants those shares because he knows Summer is our only daughter. He's trying to bleed us dry and take everything."

I watched the rims of my husband's eyes turn red, and my heart ached.

"Tonight, when Summer comes home, we sit her down and talk."

"We can't let her keep going on like this."

For the rest of the day, our phones didn't stop. Relatives, old friends, acquaintances, one after another, calls and messages flooding in.

Every single one had seen the video and wanted to know what was going on.

By then, the video had nearly a million likes.

I called Summer over and over, begging her to take the video down.

Her answer never changed: agree to transfer the shares, and the video disappears.

Then a loud crash came from the bedroom. I rushed in.

My husband was clutching his chest, sitting on the edge of the bed, gasping for air.

His phone lay on the floor where he'd thrown it.

I picked it up. The screen showed a single message from an unknown number.

"You sick old bastard, treating your own daughter like that. I hope you get hit by a car."

My blood ran cold. Before I could process it, seven or eight more messages poured in, every one of them cursing us.

We'd been doxxed.

"Call Summer. Tell her to come home right now. I need to set things straight with her once and for all."

My husband could barely get the words out between gasps.

Terrified something would happen to him, I grabbed my phone and called Summer.

Four calls. Five. Not a single one answered.

Meanwhile, his phone kept buzzing nonstop with hateful messages and harassing calls.

He snatched the vase off the table and smashed it down onto the phone. The moment the porcelain shattered, he collapsed.

I dialed 911 and got him to the hospital.

With no way to reach Summer, I had to ask my sister to watch our granddaughter for now.

At the hospital, the doctor said his blood pressure had spiked dangerously from the stress. He needed emergency surgery.

I tried calling Summer again. The line was dead. She had blocked me.

I went to send her a message and saw she'd just posted on social media.

A photo of a bowl of plain noodles. The caption read: "My mother-in-law made these for me with her own hands. She loves me ten thousand times more than my real mom ever did."

I stared at that post, sitting outside the operating room, and the tears came. I couldn't stop them.

The surgery lasted until three in the morning. The doctor said it was a success. A few days of observation and he could go home to rest.

I didn't sleep at all. Not until my husband opened his eyes the next morning.

He saw my bloodshot eyes, and pain flickered across his face.

"Where's Summer? Didn't you call her to come help you?"

I turned my head away and said nothing.

The entire night, Summer hadn't made a single call. Hadn't sent a single message.

My husband studied my expression and seemed to piece it together on his own.

"That ungrateful wretch."

I pressed my hand gently against his chest.

"The doctor said you can't get worked up right now. Please, don't."

He let out a long breath. "Tell me something. Should we have never taken her in?"

I turned to pour him a glass of water.

"She... wasn't like this when she was little."

He took the glass and scoffed.

"That's because when she was little, we hadn't gotten in the way of anything she wanted yet."

"Now she's married. In her mind, she drew the line between us a long time ago. All she cares about is Desmond and his family."

He took a sip of water and paused.

"I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all."

That last sentence hit me like a blade between the ribs. I knew what he meant.

Just then, Summer's name lit up on my phone. I glanced at my husband.

He turned his face away, but I knew. Somewhere beneath the anger, he was still hoping.

"Hello? Summer, are you at the hospital? Your father just woke up, he—"

She cut me off before I could finish.

"Enough, Mom. You two can drop the act."

"I already told you. Unless you transfer the shares to me and Desmond, don't even think about me deleting that video."

"It's already past ten million views, by the way. Your call."

The small smile that had started to form on my lips dissolved.

"Also, why has Dad's phone been off? Desmond needs his expenses reimbursed and the finance department says they can't sign off without Dad's approval."

"Tell him to call them and sort it out."

She hung up.

I held the phone in my hand, staring at the screen. Nothing left in my eyes but a hollow, bottomless disappointment.

My husband watched me sit in silence for a long time before he finally asked.

"Is she coming?"

I shook my head.

"No. She said to tell you to call the finance department so Desmond can get reimbursed."

"She didn't ask about me?"

"She said we were faking it. That the whole thing was just a trick to make her delete the video."

My husband closed his eyes. When he opened them, something had settled there, quiet and final. He took my phone, scrolled through the contacts, and dialed a number.

"Frank Hull. Those documents I asked you to prepare. Bring them to the hospital."

Summer sat on the couch and spat in disgust, her eyes full of impatience.

"Stubborn old fools. Really pulling out all the stops. Let's see how long you can keep this up."

"Summer, didn't you say yesterday you'd buy me some new clothes? When are we going?"

Her mother-in-law wandered out of the bedroom.

Summer's face instantly rearranged into a bright smile.

"Mom, let's go right now. We'll pick up a couple things for Dad too. My parents have more money than they know what to do with. Might as well spend it."

By the time they finished shopping and got home, it was already evening. That was when Desmond called.

"Hello? What's up?"

"That video your parents posted. Is it true? The whole company's losing its mind over it."

Summer frowned, confused.

"What video?"

"See for yourself."

After hanging up, Desmond sent her a link.

Summer tapped it open. In the video, my husband and I sat side by side on a hospital bed.

"Hello, everyone. We're the parents from the viral video about favoritism toward a younger brother."

"Since that video blew up, the two of us have been subjected to an enormous amount of undeserved hatred and abuse."

"So we'd like to set the record straight."

"First of all, we don't have a son. We only have one daughter: Summer."

"And neither of us is capable of having biological children. Summer was adopted. We brought her home from an orphanage thirty years ago."