"Instead of running to your in-laws every other week with your hand out—even making them pay for your own brother's wedding! Have you no shame left at all?"
My words cut deep, and I meant them to. Edward glared at me, fury burning in his eyes.
Claire immediately jumped to his defense, accusing me of being too harsh.
"Oh, you think that was harsh? Trust me, I'm holding back the worst of it."
Edward stormed out. Claire rushed after him.
A while later, they returned together.
"Mom, we've talked it over. Noah needs to be changed back to a Chavez."
"What?" Richard and I were floored.
"Edward made a good point—all of this started because Noah took the Carter name."
"That's why his family will never be able to hold their heads up around you!"
"It's just a million and a half, right? We'll sell the house, sell the car—we'll pay back every cent!"
"But Noah has to be a Chavez again!"
Now it was our turn to feel the sting.
Everyone in the family knew Noah carried the Carter name. If we changed it back now, who knew how many vultures would start circling the factory again?
"Mom, Dad, I know you look down on me. On my whole family."
"So from today on, we won't take another dime from you."
"Leave your factory to whoever you want—I don't care. All I want is my dignity back!"
Edward delivered this speech with such wounded righteousness, you'd think he was the victim of some grave injustice.
What a clever move—retreat to advance.
He knew perfectly well that after Richard and I were gone, everything would end up in Claire's hands anyway.
And Claire? She was putty in his hands. He could mold her however he pleased.
Richard and I sat in heavy silence.
Finally, my husband spoke, his voice weary: "This car you want to buy—how much?"
Claire's face lit up instantly. She shot Edward a triumphant look. "Eighty thousand!"
"Fine. I'll give it to you."
Richard's voice had aged ten years in that moment. The light in his eyes had dimmed.
I knew then—he'd surrendered.
The moment they had the money, Claire and Edward took off on vacation.
Edward needed to recover from his trauma, she said. A trip would help him feel better.
Sometimes Richard and I would sit together and wonder—if only we were younger, maybe we could have had another child.
But we were both pushing sixty. Even if we wanted to, our bodies wouldn't cooperate.
Our daughter and son-in-law knew this perfectly well. They were betting on it.
Late one night, I noticed something wrong with Noah.
His breathing was labored, punctuated by a harsh, barking cough that sounded almost like a seal.
My blood ran cold. Croup. Acute laryngitis.
Richard and I bundled him up and raced to the hospital.
On the way, I called Claire to ask where she kept Noah's insurance card.
The moment she heard he was sick, panic crept into her voice.
"Mom, don't take him to the hospital yet—wait until I get back!"
I snapped at her. "Are you out of your mind? The child can barely breathe and you want me to wait for you to fly back from overseas?"
She refused to tell me where the card was. I hung up on her.
I had Noah's ID number memorized—that would have to be enough.
But when I finished reciting it to the registration desk, the nurse looked up to confirm: "Zhang Muqiao, is it? Pediatric emergency for croup?"
Richard and I froze.
Zhang Muqiao?
"There must be some mistake," I said, my voice unsteady. "Our grandson's name was changed. He's Carter now—Noah Carter!"
The nurse typed the number in again, double-checking. "No, ma'am. The records are clear. The name is Zhang Muqiao."
My heart plummeted.
And then it hit me—every single vaccination appointment, every check-up, Claire and Edward had insisted on taking Noah themselves.
They never let us come along. Too many germs at the hospital, they'd said. You're older. Your immune systems aren't as strong.
Add to that, tonight my daughter absolutely refused to hand over my grandchild's medical insurance card, and everything clicked into place.
The baby's name had never been changed.
Richard and I swallowed our fury and focused on getting Little Noah to a doctor first.
Claire kept flooding my phone with messages, begging me not to go to the hospital, to wait until she got back.
In that moment, my disappointment in my daughter hit rock bottom. She'd been helping Edward deceive us this whole time!
That's when Richard showed me a message on his phone.
It was from a doctor at the Fertility Clinic: "Mr. Carter, the test results for you and Mrs. Carter show that you're both eligible for IVF treatment!"
I stared at his screen, my hand flying to my mouth.
He let out a heavy sigh. "Evelyn, let's have a child of our own."
