After she graduated high school and the company had finally started to take off, we sent her abroad for college.
I was afraid she'd struggle adjusting on her own, so I left my husband and our growing business behind and flew overseas to stay with her for six months, until she'd settled in.
By the time I came back, my husband's health had broken down. Ankylosing spondylitis. The years of overwork had caught up with him.
His parents never stopped pressuring us to have a second child. We held firm and refused, every single time.
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."