“Susan, honey, it’s me. Listen, let’s meet. I want to apologize properly. Like a decent human being.”
“There’s no need.”
“What do you mean, no need? I was wrong, I understand that. I want to make it right. Let me give you some money for the baby, however much you need.”
“You don’t have any money. You live on an $1,800 a month pension.”
“Well, I can borrow some. Or Mike can give it to me.”
“Eleanor,” Susan said calmly, without emotion. “You stole money from me. You stole from your own grandchild. I have nothing to say to you.”
“But I gave it back!”
“Because you had no choice. If you did, you wouldn’t have.”
“Susan, why are you being so cruel? I didn’t mean any harm.”
“Goodbye.”
Susan hung up. She blocked the number. Eleanor didn’t call again that day.
Two days passed. Mike went to work. He came home in the evenings. He helped around the house. He made dinner. He didn’t push for conversation. Susan watched him cautiously, studying him. He was trying. It was obvious. He was trying to be attentive, caring. He asked how she was feeling. If she needed anything. He never mentioned his mother.
On the third evening, he sat down next to her on the sofa. He held out his phone.
“Look.”
The screen showed a banking app. A new account, opened in Susan’s name. The balance was $5,000.
“What’s this?”
“I opened a savings account in your name. I put my money in it. The money I was saving for a new truck. Let it be for the baby. Only you have access. I can’t even see how much is in there. It’s your money. Ours, for the baby.”
Susan stared at the screen, not believing it. $5,000. He had given her his savings. The money he had been saving for two years for a new truck.
“Mike…”
“Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.” He put the phone away and looked at her. “I realized something. The truck can wait. The baby can’t. He’ll be here in six months, and he needs a decent crib, a stroller, clothes. That’s more important.”
Susan felt a warmth stir inside her. Not forgiveness—it was too soon for that. But hope. A small, cautious hope.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Mike smiled. For the first time in days. A hesitant, guilty smile, but a sincere one.
The next day, Saturday, they went to a baby store together. They walked the aisles, picking out a stroller. Mike studied the features, checked the wheels, the folding mechanism. Susan looked at colors and fabrics. They chose a gray, all-in-one model: bassinet, toddler seat, car seat. $450. Expensive, but high quality. Then a crib—white, with an adjustable mattress height. $300. A mattress, bedding, bumper pads. Another $150. From pacifiers to onesies, sleepers, hats, socks. $100. A large box of diapers. $50.
At the register, the total came to just over a thousand dollars. Mike paid with his card without blinking.
They loaded the boxes into the car and drove home. At home, Mike assembled the crib. It took him a long time, following the instructions, cursing the manufacturers. But he got it done. He placed it in the corner of the bedroom, by the window. Susan made the bed. She put on the bumper pads with the embroidered bears. She stepped back and looked at it. A crib. A real one. For their baby.
“Looks nice,” Mike said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it does.”
They stood there together, looking at the crib. And in that moment, Susan felt it: maybe this could work. Maybe they could make it. Together.
That evening, the doorbell rang. Susan opened it. Eleanor was on the doorstep. With a huge bag. A forced smile on her face.
“Susan, can I come in? I brought gifts. For my grandbaby.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Just for a minute! Don’t turn me away.”
Mike appeared in the hallway. He saw his mother. His face hardened.
“Mom, why are you here?”
“What do you mean, why? I’m going to be a grandmother. I should help.”
“Mom, we had an agreement. You only come over when you’re invited.”
“But I brought gifts!”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t come without an invitation.”
Eleanor looked at her son, then at Susan. A flash of hurt and anger crossed her eyes. But it quickly turned to self-pity.
“So that’s how it is. I’m a stranger now. Because of her.” She pointed a finger at Susan.
“Not because of her. Because of you. Because you stole money from your own grandchild.”
“I was trying to keep it safe!”
“You were trying to control us. That’s the difference.”
Eleanor stood there, her lips pressed together. Then she thrust the bag at Mike.
“Here, give this to her. It’s some things for the baby. I knitted them myself.”
Mike took the bag and looked inside. Tiny wool booties, a hat, a little sweater. They were clumsily made, but with effort.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll give them to her.”
“And that’s it? You’re not even going to offer me some tea?”
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