Now, get back in the time machine. It's now the 1940's and roughly seven years later. My grandma is now a 28 year old mother of three. It's the summer her husband's 21 year old nephew comes to live with them. Oops, I forgot to mention, my grandmother was hot. Dark hair, gorgeous skin, bright green eyes. The nephew doesn't stand a chance. He falls head over heels in love with her. Stolen glances and sweet nothings turn into a full fledged emotional affair. But women in Iran, in the 1940s, with three kids, don't leave their husbands for a guy seven years younger than them. Unless of course you're as brave as my grandma.
All hell breaks loose. My grandma's family is appalled by her decision. Her husband is understandably hurt and betrayed. She realizes she could be making a huge and irreversible mistake that could cost her to lose her children. She goes back to her husband, but he won't take her back, and says he's already found someone else he wants to marry.
She's got no choice but to stand by the blow off.
My grandmother marries her husband's nephew (also known as my grandfather). They have five kids together, my mom being the youngest. One arranged marriage, one scandalous blow off, and sixty plus years later = 8 kids, 17 grandkids, and 10 great grandkids and counting. Wow. There's one blow off I'm thankful for.