“Don’t come over without an invitation, don’t meddle in our finances, don’t give unsolicited advice, don’t manipulate us. Those kinds of rules.”
His mother stood up and grabbed her purse.
“I see. So I’m not wanted here. Well, I’ll manage somehow without you.”
She left, slamming the door. Mike watched her go and sighed heavily.
“She’s upset again.”
“She’ll get used to it.” Susan finished her tea. “Or she won’t. Her choice.”
They finished the cake in silence. Then Mike cleared the dishes, and Susan wiped the table. The routine of a normal family life.
That evening, they sat on the sofa, watching a show. Mike had his arm around Susan, and she leaned against his shoulder. Some drama was unfolding on the screen, but Susan wasn’t paying attention. She was thinking her own thoughts. In six months, their son would be born. They had already decided to name him Arthur. Mike would be at the birth, holding her hand, encouraging her. Then they would come home, the three of them: her, Mike, and the baby. A new life would begin: sleepless nights, diapers, feedings, first smiles, first words.
And Eleanor would be somewhere nearby, outside the boundary they had set. Maybe she would accept it, learn to be respectful. Maybe not. Then she would see her grandson once a month, in a neutral place.
Susan placed a hand on her belly and stroked it. Something moved inside. A light, barely perceptible first kick.
“Mike, do you feel that?”
He placed his hand next to hers and held his breath. Another kick.
“Yeah…” he breathed out. “Is that him?”
“It’s him.”
Mike pressed his forehead to her belly and whispered:
“Hey, Artie. It’s your dad. I’ll see you soon.”
Susan closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the sofa. For the first time in weeks, she felt a sense of peace. A real, deep peace. Everything was going to be okay. Not right away, not easily. But it would be. Because the most important things were done. The boundaries were set. The money was safe. Her husband was on her side. Eleanor no longer had power over their lives.
This was their family. Their rules. Their future. And let her mother-in-law call, cry, manipulate. The door now only opened from the inside. And only for those who had earned their trust. And trust isn’t bought with tears and cakes. It’s earned with actions, with respect, with time.
Susan stroked her belly, feeling new kicks under her palm. Her boy. Her Arthur. He would grow up in a home where he was loved and protected, where there were boundaries and rules. Where his grandmother was a guest, not a dictator. Where his mom and dad made decisions together, not under pressure from the outside.
She opened her eyes and looked at her husband. He was still sitting there, pressed against her belly. Talking to his son, quietly, gently, promising to be there, to protect him, to love him. And Susan believed him. Not completely, not unconditionally, but she believed him.
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