“Not today.”
His mother turned and walked toward the stairs. At the railing, she stopped and looked back.
“You know, Mike, I raised you all by myself. Your father left when you were three. I worked two jobs so you would never want for anything. I taught you, clothed you, fed you. And now you’re kicking me out. For some woman who’s brainwashed you!”
“Mom, she’s not ‘some woman,’ she’s my wife. The mother of my child. And yes, I’m choosing her. Because she’s right, and you’re wrong.”
Eleanor sniffled and wiped her eyes with a tissue.
“You’ll regret this. When I’m dead, you’ll regret treating me this way.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You’re not dying. You’re just angry that you can’t run everything anymore.”
His mother slammed the building door, her footsteps fading down the stairs.
Mike closed the apartment door and leaned his forehead against it. He stood like that for a minute, then turned to Susan.
“Did I do the right thing?”
“Yes.”
“It’s hard. She really did raise me alone, she sacrificed a lot.”
“I know. But that doesn’t give her the right to run your life. Our life.”
Mike nodded. He took the bag of knitted things and carried it to the bedroom. Susan followed him. Together, they looked at the gifts. The booties really were made with care. With love. Small, warm, and touching.
“She tried,” Mike said quietly. “Even though she’s terrible at knitting, she did try. Maybe when the baby is born, she’ll change? Realize she needs to respect boundaries?”
Susan shrugged.
“Maybe. Or maybe not. Time will tell.”
Mike put the booties in the dresser next to the other baby clothes. He closed the drawer and turned to Susan.
“Thank you for giving me a chance. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
“I’m not giving you a chance,” Susan replied. “I’m just trying to save our family. For the baby. For us.”
He hugged her gently, carefully, as if afraid of breaking her. Susan didn’t pull away. She leaned into him and closed her eyes. She was tired. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone.
A week passed. Life settled into a new rhythm. Mike worked, and so did Susan. In the evenings, they ate dinner together, watched movies, and discussed what else they needed to buy for the baby. Eleanor didn’t call, didn’t visit. It was as if she had vanished. Susan signed up for a birthing class. Mike went with her, sitting in the back row, listening to lectures on breathing, contractions, and birth partners. After the class, the instructor praised them: “It’s rare for husbands to come along, good for you.”
At her next ultrasound, the doctor said everything was progressing well. The baby was developing properly, the heartbeat was strong. She asked if they wanted to know the gender. Susan looked at Mike. He shrugged: “Whatever you want.”
“We want to know,” Susan said.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor smiled. “Congratulations.”
Mike let out a breath and grinned broadly, like a little boy.
“A boy… A son.”
And he hugged Susan right there in the exam room, a tight, joyful hug.
“Sue, we’re having a son!”
“Yes, we are.”
They left the clinic and got in the car. Mike started the engine but didn’t drive. He just sat there, his hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
“I’m going to be a good dad,” he said quietly. “Not like mine. I won’t leave, I won’t walk away. I’ll be there, always.”
“I know.”
“And I won’t let my mother interfere with his upbringing. He’s our son, we decide how to raise him.”
“I agree.”
He turned to her and took her hand.
“Forgive me. For everything. For not understanding right away whose side I should be on.”
Susan squeezed his fingers in return. For the first time in days.
“I forgive you, but I won’t forget. Remember that.”
“I’ll remember. And I won’t repeat it.”
They drove home. On the way, they stopped at the store and bought groceries. Mike carried the heavy bags, Susan the light ones. They went up to the apartment and put everything away. They made dinner together. He chopped vegetables while she made soup. That night, when they went to bed, Mike came back to their bed. Susan didn’t object. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and placed a hand on her belly.
“Hey, son,” he whispered into the darkness. “It’s Dad. I’m waiting for you. I really am. I promise I’ll protect you and your mom. Always. From everyone. Even from Grandma, if I have to.”
Susan closed her eyes and covered his hand with hers. Not everything was healed yet. The wounds were fresh and deep, but they were closing. Slowly, but surely.
A few days later, a text came from Eleanor: “Mike, honey, how are you? I miss you. Can we talk on the phone?”
Mike showed it to Susan. She shrugged.
“It’s your call.”
He dialed the number and put it on speaker. Eleanor answered on the first ring.
“Sweetie, I’m so glad you called! How are you? How’s Susan? How’s my grandbaby?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom. We found out the gender. It’s a boy.”
“A boy! Oh, how wonderful! I’ve always dreamed of a grandson! Listen, let me come over. I’ll finish knitting some more things. I can help you with the nursery.”
“Mom, stop. We’re not redecorating. And we don’t need any help right now.”
“What do you mean, you don’t need help? Who’s going to babysit when Susan goes back to work? Are you going to hire a nanny? Or I can take some time off? Why pay a nanny when I can do it for free?”
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