During the year our love was at its peak, the young general whose name shook the borderlands used all his military merit to petition my Imperial Father for my hand in marriage.
But three years later, a woman arrived at our door clutching a child, weeping and begging me to take them in.
My husband claimed he had simply had too much to drink and made a terrible mistake.
My mother-in-law said that since I had already ruined my husband’s career prospects, I could not go so far as to sever his bloodline as well.
My closest kin advised me to be magnanimous, telling me that this was simply how every mistress of a household in the capital lived.
Only my sister, with whom I had never seen eye to eye, patted my back and told me: “In the past, you let your Imperial Brother make your decisions for you.” “Later, you let your husband make your decisions for you.” “Now, it is time you learned to grow up on your own.” “After all, you have a little girl of your own now.”
I looked down at the tiny daughter in my arms, who was still sucking on her fingers.
I understood that if I were weak, my daughter would never know how to be strong.
If I were easily bullied, my daughter would never know how to be independent. This time, it was my turn to act.
