Mike lowered his head.
“Maybe so. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was wrong. A blind idiot who didn’t protect his family.”
Susan finished her water. She stood up. She walked to the window. She watched the wet snow fall on the asphalt.
“I don’t know, Mike. I don’t know if this can be fixed. You broke down the door. You screamed at me. You almost hit me in the kitchen that day, remember? Your hand was raised.”
“I didn’t hit you.”
“But you could have. In that moment, you could have. And I saw it.”
Mike stood up and walked toward her, but didn’t touch her. He kept his distance, as if afraid to scare her off.
“I will never raise a hand to you. I swear. I just lost it that day. But I didn’t hit you. I stopped.”
“You stopped this time. What about next time?”
“There won’t be a next time.”
Susan turned and looked him in the eye.
“How do you know? Your mother will say something again. She’ll put pressure on you again. And you’ll believe her again, not me. You’ll come at me with accusations again.”
“No. She won’t. I won’t let her interfere.”
“How, exactly, will you stop her?”
Mike ran a hand over his face, rubbing his red eyes.
“I’ll call her. I’ll tell her she’s not to come over without an invitation. That she returned the money—every penny. That she’ll see her grandchild only if you allow it. And that if she tries to get between us again, I’ll cut off contact with her completely.”
“You’ve said that before. After the thing with the key. Did she give the key back?”
“No,” Mike admitted quietly. “She didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Susan walked away from the window, past him, toward the door. She stopped at the doorway, without turning around.
“You know what the worst part is? It’s not that you didn’t believe me. And it’s not that you broke down the door. It’s that I can’t trust you now. Because I don’t know whose side you’ll be on next time.”
“Sue, I need some time to think. To figure out what to do next.”
“And you need to decide who’s more important to you: your mother, or your family. Your real family. Me and the baby.”
She left the kitchen and went into the bedroom. She closed the mangled door as best she could—it hung by one hinge and didn’t shut properly. Susan sat on the bed and picked up the box of money. She opened it, counted it. All there. $1,300. Her protection. Her child’s future. She put the box beside her and lay on her side. She was tired. Bone-tired of the fighting, the mistrust, the constant tension.
She heard footsteps in the hallway. Then the sound of the front door opening. Mike was gone. Susan closed her eyes and, for the first time since the night before, she cried. Quietly, without sobs. The tears just streamed down her cheeks. Wet and salty.
That evening, Mike came back. He rang the doorbell—he hadn’t taken his keys. Susan opened it. He was standing on the doorstep with a large bag from the hardware store.
“I’m going to fix the door,” he said. “Right now. I bought new hinges. Got my tools. It’ll be good as new in an hour.”
Susan stepped aside silently and let him in. Mike went into the bedroom. He started working. He took the door off its remaining hinge. Unscrewed the broken ones. Screwed on the new ones. He worked with focus, in silence. Susan stood in the hallway, watching. An hour and a half later, the door was as good as new. Mike opened and closed it a few times to test it. He nodded, satisfied.
“Done. It’s solid.”
“Thank you.”
He gathered his tools and took out the trash. He came back, washed his hands. He stood in the hallway, not knowing what to do next.
“I called my mom,” he said. “I told her everything you said. She cried, screamed that I was a traitor. That I chose some ‘strange woman’ over my own mother. I hung up. Then she called again. Sent a text.”
“And?”
“I blocked her number.”
Susan raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t expected that.
“You blocked her?”
“Yeah, for now. Until she calms down. Until she understands she was wrong.”
“She won’t understand. She thinks she’s the victim.”
“Maybe. But that’s… that’s her problem. Not ours.”
Susan went into the kitchen. She sat at the table. Mike followed her and sat across from her.
“Sue, I know that words and a fixed door can’t make up for what I did. But I’m going to try every day to prove that I’m worthy of your trust. That I can be a decent husband, a decent father.”
Susan looked at him for a long time, studying him. He seemed sincere. But how many times had she seen this sincerity, only for everything to repeat itself?
“Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll try. But on my terms.”
“What are they?”
“First. Your mother does not enter this apartment without my permission. Ever. Even if you invite her, I have to approve it.”
“Agreed.”
“Second. We make all financial decisions together. If your mother asks for money, we discuss it together. And I have the final say on whether we give it or not.”
“Agreed.”
“Third. You never, ever take her side against me again. Ever. Even if she cries, threatens, manipulates—you are on my side. Always.”
Mike nodded, looking her straight in the eye.
“Always. I promise.”
“And last. If you break any of these conditions, even once, I’m leaving with the baby, and I won’t come back.”
Mike’s face grew serious. He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
“Understood. I won’t break them. Never again.”
Susan didn’t pull her hand away, but she didn’t squeeze his fingers in return either. She just let it rest there.
“We’ll see.”
That evening, they ate dinner together. Silently, but without tension. Just tired, like two people after a long battle. Mike washed the dishes, Susan wiped the table. Then she went to the bedroom, and he went to the sofa in the living room.
The next morning, Susan received a text from an unknown number: “Susan, dear, it’s me, Mike’s mom. Please don’t be angry. I understand everything now, I realize what I did. Forgive me, I’m a foolish old woman. I really just wanted what was best. Can I come over and we can talk?”
Susan deleted the message without replying.
An hour later, another one came from a different number: “Susan, please don’t ignore me. I’m a grandmother. I have a right to see my grandchild when he’s born.”
She deleted that one too.
Around noon, a call came from a local number. Susan answered.
“Hello?”
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