The Betrayal After My Second Baby

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!"