“Oh, just curious. I just want to understand how prepared you are for the baby.”
“We’re prepared.”
“Well, good.”
Her mother-in-law stood up and walked around the kitchen. She glanced into the hallway, then came back.
“Listen, where’s your bathroom? I suddenly have to go.”
“Down the hall, on the left.”
Eleanor left. Susan stayed in the kitchen, finishing her tea. She listened. The bathroom door closed. Then silence. A silence that was too long. Susan got up and went into the hallway. The bathroom door was ajar. The light was off. Her mother-in-law wasn’t there. Her heart sank. Susan hurried into the bedroom. No one there. The living room was dark too. She went back to the hallway. The door to the top shelf of the closet was open. Someone was rummaging around up there.
“Eleanor!” Susan shouted. “Get down from there right now!”
Her mother-in-law peeked out from behind the open closet door. In her hands was the boot box.
“Aha, so this is where it is! The money! I knew it.”
Susan ran over and tried to grab the box. Eleanor jumped back and opened the lid. She saw the cash, the onesies, the ultrasound picture.
“I knew it! Hiding it from your family, from your own husband! For shame!”
“Give that back right now!”
“I will not. I’m going to show Mike what you’ve been doing. He needs to know.”
Eleanor clutched the box and ran for the exit. Susan lunged after her, grabbing her coat. Her mother-in-law broke free, threw open the door, and ran out onto the landing.
“Stop! Give it back!”
But Eleanor was already clattering down the stairs, clutching the box. Susan chased after her, but on the third-floor landing, she stumbled and nearly fell. She grabbed the railing to steady herself and stopped. Below, the building’s main door slammed shut.
Susan slowly walked back up to her apartment, closed the door, and leaned against the wall. She slid to the floor, breathing heavily, her heart pounding. The money, the onesies, the ultrasound picture—she stole it all. Everything! She sat on the floor in the entryway, hugging her knees, unable to move. There was a cold, sticky emptiness inside her. Her mother-in-law had stolen the money. She had stolen from her own grandchild.
Her phone rang. Mike. Susan answered with trembling hands.
“Hello.”
“Mom told me everything. Are you really pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew your mother would ruin everything.”
“She said you were hiding money. Thirteen hundred dollars. Is that true?”
“Yes. I was saving it for the baby. For our baby. And she stole it.”
“She didn’t steal it. She took it to keep it safe. So you wouldn’t waste it on nonsense.”
Susan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was silent, unable to say a word.
“I’ll be home tomorrow, we’ll talk,” Mike said, and hung up.
Susan sat there, phone in hand, staring into space. Her husband had taken his mother’s side. Even now, after she had stolen money from her own grandchild, he was on her side. She slowly got up and went into the bedroom. She lay on the bed and curled into a ball. She stroked her belly and whispered in a broken voice, “I’m so sorry, little one. I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”
The night dragged on endlessly. Susan didn’t sleep, just lay with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Her mind raced. What should she do? How could she get the money back? Go to her mother-in-law’s? Demand it? But she wouldn’t give it back. She’d say she was keeping it for them, for safekeeping. Mike would support her. And Susan would be the one at fault. Should she just stay silent? Start saving all over again? But there wasn’t much time. The baby was due in six months. She couldn’t save that much again. Or should she leave? Move out? Live on her own? Raise the baby alone? But on what? She couldn’t survive on her salary with a child.
By morning, Susan had made a decision. She would show Mike what his mother had done. She would show him in a way he couldn’t turn away from. Couldn’t justify. And if, even after that, he still took his mother’s side—she would leave. Without regret.
She got up, washed her face, and got dressed. She pulled an old gym bag from the closet. She packed her important documents, some clothes, and the cash she had left in her wallet. If she had to, she could go to a friend’s for the night, and figure things out from there. Mike was supposed to come that evening. Susan prepared. She did everything just as she had planned. On the bed, she laid out what was left: the empty boot box, a few bills she found in a drawer, and the note on a piece of paper: “I’M 3 MONTHS OLD. HI, DAD!” She bought another package of diapers, another onesie. She arranged everything neatly, fanned out. She locked the bedroom door from the inside. She lay on the bed and waited.
At ten-thirty that night, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Voices: Mike and Eleanor. Susan tensed. They had come together. A key turned in the lock. The door opened. Footsteps in the entryway.
“Sue!” Mike called out. “Are you home?”
She remained silent. She heard him walk into the kitchen, then the living room. Then to the bedroom. He jiggled the handle. Locked.
“Sue, open up!”
Silence.
“Sue, I know you’re in there. Open the door. We need to talk.”
Silence. Mike yanked the handle harder.
“Sue, stop messing around. Open the door!”
Behind him, Eleanor’s voice: “Maybe she’s not feeling well? Maybe something’s wrong with the baby?”
Mike took a step back. Then he charged, hitting the door with his shoulder. The door shuddered but held. Another charge. The hinges gave way. The door flew open with a crash.
“Where’s the money from your account?” Mike roared, storming into the bedroom. “My mother said you cleared it out!”
Susan was lying on the bed, calm and still. She slowly reached for the light switch on the wall beside the bed. She flipped it. The overhead light flooded the room. Mike took a step forward and froze. On the bed, arranged in a neat fan, were three packages of baby diapers, several tiny white onesies with embroidered bunnies, an ultrasound picture showing the clear profile of a fetus, and a note in big, block letters: “I’M 3 MONTHS OLD. HI, DAD.”
Mike’s expression shifted. From rage to confusion, then to a dawning horror. He looked at the bed, then at Susan, then back at the bed. His lips moved, but no words came out. His knees buckled. He grabbed the doorframe for support and slowly slid to the floor.
“You’re… We’re…” he managed to choke out.
Behind him, in the doorway, stood Eleanor, a triumphant look on her face, ready to burst in and demand an explanation. But when she saw the bed, she froze. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open. She stared at the onesies, the diapers, the ultrasound picture, and understanding slowly dawned on her.
“What?” she shrieked. “You’re pregnant? Well, you should have said something…”
Susan got off the bed. Slowly, deliberately, calmly. She walked barefoot to the door and stopped in front of her mother-in-law. She looked at her with a cold, hard gaze, directly into her eyes.
“Should I have?” Susan’s voice was quiet, but it had a steel edge. “So you could have shaken this money out of me too? So you could have paid for your perfectly fine refrigerator with money set aside for your grandchild?”
Eleanor backed away, clutching the purse that held the stolen box of money.
“I… I didn’t know. I thought…”
“You thought I was spending it on a lover, or on myself? It never even occurred to you that I was just trying to provide a decent future for my child, your grandchild.”
“Susan, I…”
“Where is the money?”
Susan took a step forward.
“Where is the thirteen hundred dollars you stole an hour ago?”
Her mother-in-law clutched her purse to her chest, her face turning pale.
“I didn’t steal it. I took it for safekeeping. So… so you wouldn’t waste it.”
“Give it back. Right now.”
“I won’t. It’s for your own good. I’ll keep it safe, and then, when the baby is born, I’ll give it back.”
“You stole money from your own grandchild.” Susan said it slowly, enunciating every word. “From a baby who is three months along. Who is defenseless. Who hasn’t even been born yet. And you stole his future.”
Eleanor opened her mouth, then closed it. Tears welled up in her eyes—fake, theatrical tears, for effect.
“I didn’t mean any harm. I wanted what was best. Mike, tell her!”
Mike was still sitting on the floor by the doorframe, his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking. It was unclear if he was crying or laughing. He lifted his head and looked at his mother. His eyes were filled with pain, shame, and disgust.
“Mom, what have you done?”
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