When we got married, my family didn't ask for a single dollar in bride price. On top of that, they gave him a dowry worth a million dollars.
I bought him a Mercedes E-Class so he could keep up appearances.
I even told everyone that I was the one marrying out, terrified he might feel emasculated.
How was that not enough?
When we found out it was twins, I was the one who brought it up first.
"How about one takes your last name and one takes mine?"
And he'd said, "No need. I married into your family. They should both be Galloways."
So why now—just because he'd taken some heat, just because his mother suddenly couldn't stand it—did they get to go back on everything?
And at the most critical moment of my life, while I was on the operating table fighting to survive, he'd let his mother use this to hold me hostage.
To say I wasn't heartbroken would be a lie.
I steadied my breathing and looked at my husband.
"What do you think? You really believe I owe you something?"
"This is our marriage. It has nothing to do with your mother. She doesn't get a say."
He stood there, head bowed.
He fumbled for words for a long time before lifting his damp eyes to mine.
"Just do what my mom says."
"This is the first time she's ever really fought for me."
"I don't want to let her down."
I stared at him, and something inside me went cold, piece by piece.
The truth was, I wasn't afraid of him trying to take my house.
Just two days ago, I'd been discussing with my parents the idea of adding his name to the deed so he'd feel more secure.
But now, he had let me down.
My emotions surged, and a rush of warmth spread between my legs.
I'd barely been out of the operating room. I was bleeding again.
My mother's face drained of color. "Stop talking. Get her to the ER. Now."
By the time they finally stabilized me, my father was pacing back and forth beside my bed.
The doctor spoke gravely. "I don't care what's going on in your family. For the next few days, do not let this woman get upset."
"No anger. No arguments. She needs rest."
My father patted my hand after hearing that.
"Sweetheart, you can't be getting worked up during recovery. This can't go on."
"Jim married into our family. He's one of us now. Giving a little more just means it's shared property between the two of you."
"It's just a house. If he wants it, let him have it. Anything that can be solved with money isn't worth losing sleep over."
My mother chimed in too.
"Money is money. It doesn't matter. What matters right now is your health."
"Besides, you just had babies. You can't possibly get divorced before you're even out of recovery. Those children need their father."
She trailed off, her voice tinged with worry.
"The grandparents are waiting for you two to bring the babies home. Their health is fragile. If this blows up any bigger... I'm afraid..."
I closed my eyes.
My grandparents had just had heart surgery not long ago. They couldn't handle any kind of shock.
Right now, the only thing those two old people were living for was to see me and my husband bring the Galloway babies home.
Just minutes ago, they'd texted me asking when I'd be discharged.
If things really escalated to divorce, word would reach them. There was no way it wouldn't.
My mother, always the sentimental one, pressed further.
"Jim has been so good to you. Can you really bring yourself to leave him?"
I thought about the porridge he'd make for me late at night. The breakfasts he'd prepare with little heart-shaped garnishes every morning.
Then the pregnancy—how he never missed a single checkup, how he'd stay up through the night sitting by my bed, massaging my swollen feet.
My heart couldn't harden all the way.
But that house—I couldn't give it up.
It wasn't just a house.
It was where my parents got married.
It was where I grew up. It was twenty-some years of roots for our entire family.
I wasn't handing it over to anyone.
