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I was 33, pregnant with my fourth child, living in my in-laws’ house, when my mother-in-law looked me dead in the eye and said: “If this baby isn’t a boy, you and your three daughters are out.” And my husband just smirked and asked, “So when are you leaving?”

Reality? Derek liked being the golden boy again. His mom cooked, his dad paid most of the bills, and I was the live-in nanny who didn’t own a single wall.
To Patricia, my MIL, they were three failures.
“Three girls. Bless her heart.”
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