THEY MOCKED MY BABY OVER DINNER SO I GAVE THEM A PAPER THAT SHUT THEM UP
They Mocked my baby over dinner so I gave them a paper that shut them up
Episode 1✅
They laughed at me at dinner over my baby, so I gave them a document that silenced them all.
During our family dinner, my sister-in-law Tamara threw out a biting remark. “Too bad your baby doesn’t look anything like your husband.” Marcus laughed and added, “Maybe she’s hiding a secret.” The room erupted with laughter
I remained calm, stood up, and handed him a plain white envelope. “Since we’re sharing secrets tonight, open this.” The
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They laughed at me at dinner over my baby, so I gave him a document that silenced them all. During our family dinner, my sister-in-law Tamara threw out a biting remark. “Too bad your baby doesn’t look anything like your husband.” Marcus laughed and added, “Maybe she’s hiding a secret.” The room erupted with laughter. I remained calm, stood up, and handed him a plain white envelope. “Since we’re sharing secrets tonight, open this.” The laughter stopped immediately. His face drained of color.
Tamara’s words cut sharply through the warmth of the evening like a blade through silk. The cozy chatter that had filled the dining room moments earlier vanished. Conversations froze. Utensils hung midair. Even the old grandfather clock in the hall seemed to pause as if holding its breath. I’d spent the last seven days preparing for this night, scrubbing the house, cooking, arranging every detail just so. The pot roast simmered for eight hours, seasoned with herbs I’d grown myself. Our finest Lennox china, our wedding gift, sparkled beneath the chandelier.
I’d visited several florists searching for the perfect autumn centerpiece. Why all this effort? Because after three years married to Marcus, I was still fighting for my place in his family. I wanted them to see I was more than just a girl their golden boy settled for. I wanted them to respect me as someone who could uplift their family name. Now, sitting there with Tamara’s cruel jab echoing, I felt the bitter irony. She sat across from me, fingers wrapped around her wine glass, a smug smile curling her lips as if she’d just told the funniest joke on earth.
Tamara had always been jealous. Marcus’s younger sister had been the family princess before I arrived, and she’d never forgiven me for stealing even a fraction of the spotlight. But this went beyond typical sibling rivalry. This was deliberate cruelty meant to humiliate me in front of the people whose approval I desperately craved. I turned to Marcus, my heart pounding. I needed him to stand up for me, for our family, to tell his sister her words were unacceptable and that Elijah was beautiful and undeniably his son.
Instead, Marcus let out that nervous, weak laugh—the one he used whenever he chose to fit in with his family rather than defend what was right. “Maybe Jasmine has a secret,” he said. Inside, I felt something shatter like glass crashing on concrete. The betrayal hit me not just because of his words, but because of his silence. He didn’t defend me. He didn’t defend our son. He sacrificed me for a few cheap laughs from people who would never truly accept me. The laughter that followed burned in my veins.
His mother, Gloria—who had insisted I call her “mom” but never fully meant it—giggled behind her napkin. His father, usually stern, chuckled into his whiskey. Even his cousin Monnique, who I thought was on my side, covered her mouth, eyes sparkling with malicious delight. But Denise’s reaction cut the deepest—our housekeeper who had been with us since Elijah was born, who had seen me cry during those exhausting early months, who knew how fiercely I loved my son. She froze in the doorway, her gentle eyes wide with shock and something close to pity.
Upstairs, Elijah’s soft breathing came through the baby monitor on the side table. My innocent tenfold son slept peacefully while the adults he should trust tore down his mother’s reputation below. He had no idea his very legitimacy was being questioned. His existence made a joke. The worst part was knowing this wasn’t the first time Marcus had doubted Elijah’s parentage. From the moment Elijah was placed in my arms at the hospital, Marcus had been planting seeds of doubt.
“His nose is too sharp for our family,” he whispered one night when he thought I was asleep—studying our newborn’s face like a detective hunting for proof of my betrayal. “Are you sure about the timing?” he asked just last month while watching Elijah play, pretending it was casual, but clearly counting backwards from Elijah’s birth date. I had watched him during bath time, feeding, and quiet moments when Elijah would babble and reach for his father’s face. Instead of love, Marcus’ expression held confusion, suspicion, and something like disappointment. These moments were private and small enough to dismiss. I told myself he was adjusting to fatherhood.
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