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.