“You need to give me your baby when he’s born,” Carly said again, her words sharp and heavy, hanging in the air like a threat. She didn’t even let me blink before grabbing my arm, her grip tight enough to leave marks, and I felt that familiar mix of shock and anger coil in my stomach. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. We were supposed to be celebrating. Just ten minutes earlier, Zach and I had shared our news that we were expecting a boy, and here she was, turning that joy into a demand that made my skin crawl.
Her eyes were wide, wild almost, the kind of look people get when they think the world owes them everything. “You’re out of your mind,” I said, stepping back instinctively, my hand shaking as I tried to free myself from her grasp. “Why would you say that to me?”
“I was meant to be a boy mom,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low and insistent, as though I couldn’t possibly understand the gravity of what she believed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl. The mother-son bond. Little league games. All of it.”
I could feel the room tilt around me. The fluorescent kitchen lights reflected off the counters, off the cereal boxes and the half-finished dishes on the island, and yet nothing seemed real. Carly’s words felt like some distorted echo from a nightmare. She was talking about my child like he was already hers, as if every milestone, every scraped knee, every first word would belong to her.
“And then what about your daughter?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice. “What does that have to do with me?”
She didn’t pause. “Instead, you got stuck with a disgusting daughter who ruined my life.” The words were spat out as if my niece, fourteen years old and sitting quietly in her corner, was nothing more than a regrettable purchase she wished she could return.
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to scream. “That’s your child, Carly. My son is mine,” I said, my voice rising slightly, but she didn’t even flinch. Her grip on my arm tightened.
“You have a husband. You can try again,” she said, almost teasing now, like she was explaining a simple fact. “Don’t you see, Enid? This is a miracle. I was meant to have your baby boy.”
I shook her hand off, my heart hammering in my chest. “I’m not giving you my son just because you hate your own child.” My voice was trembling, but firm. I could feel the heat rising in my face, my hands trembling, and for the first time, I wanted to throw something, to push back with everything in me.
Her jaw tightened, and she looked at me like she genuinely couldn’t comprehend why I wasn’t groveling, why I wasn’t falling apart at her feet. “You don’t even want to be a mom that badly,” she said, her voice cracking. “I would cherish every second with him. But you—you didn’t even cry when you found out you were pregnant.”
That was the moment Zach appeared in the doorway. His expression was unreadable at first, but the way his jaw clenched and the cold flash in his eyes made me realize he had heard enough. He stepped in front of me, his body solid, a shield between me and Carly.
“Get away from my wife,” he said, his voice low but commanding.
Carly didn’t flinch. “Stay out of this,” she said sharply. “This is a family matter.”
“You’re going to leave,” Zach said, voice hardening, “and you’re never going to speak to her again. Do you understand me?”
She glanced at him, a slow, almost predatory smile spreading across her face. It was the kind of smile that made you realize she believed she was already one step ahead, that she had already imagined the outcome. “You can say no all you want,” she said softly, “doesn’t change what’s coming.” She turned on her heel and left the kitchen as confidently as though she owned the house.
Zach grabbed my hand before I could follow her. “We need to leave. Now,” he said.
I shook my head, my pulse still racing. “No. That’s what she wants. She wants to make me look crazy. If we leave now, she wins.”
He hesitated, reading the stubborn resolve in my eyes. We walked back into the living room together, and the moment we did, I realized that Carly had already spun her story. Mom was sitting on the couch, curled inward, sobbing dramatically as though the world had just ended. Dad stood by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight, refusing to meet my gaze. Jordan, Carly’s daughter, was pressed against the wall in the corner, small and almost invisible, watching the scene unfold with wide, uncertain eyes.
The only sound in the room was Carly’s quiet crying—or maybe it was just my imagination, a trick of the tension in the air—but I knew I had to speak. I squared my shoulders and let my voice fill the room. “Those were her exact words,” I said, steady now, despite the trembling in my chest. “She cornered me in the kitchen, grabbed my arm, and told me I need to hand over my son when he’s born.”
I scanned the room, expecting some reaction, some interruption. But all I got was silence. Mom looked at me calmly, as though confirming what I’d said was no big deal. “We know,” she said quietly. “We think you should consider it.”
I laughed, short and incredulous. “I think I heard that wrong,” I said. But nobody else laughed. Dad was still staring out the window, and Carly had stopped crying, peering at me through her fingers. Even Zach stood silently beside me, tense and watchful.
“I’m sorry,” I said, slower this time, letting each word land. “You think I should consider giving my baby away?”
Mom’s face didn’t change. “Not giving him away,” she said carefully, “just letting Carly be more involved. Maybe even taking the lead in raising him. You would still see him. You’d still be his mother. But Carly could be the primary caregiver.”
The room seemed to shrink around me. Air heavy, thick with disbelief and tension. “That’s insane,” I said, my voice almost a whisper, though it carried in the silence.
“Is it?” Mom asked, calm but insistent. “You work constantly. You said yourself you weren’t even trying to get pregnant. You didn’t seem all that excited when you found out. Carly has been wanting this for fourteen years. She’s taken classes, read every parenting book. She would be home with him every single day while you’re at the office.”
“I’m not quitting my job to prove I deserve my own child,” I said, voice rising. The words felt alien coming from my own lips, as though I had been holding them back for years, storing them for this exact confrontation.
Dad finally turned from the window, his voice calm but edged with frustration. “It’s always about you. What you want, what you’re willing to sacrifice. Have you even thought about what’s best for the baby?”
I felt like I was standing in an alternate universe. The people who had raised me, the ones who had taught me about compromise and sacrifice, were now standing in a living room telling me to hand my child over like he was a borrowed possession.
“What’s best for the baby,” I said slowly, “is being raised by his actual mother—not by someone who…” I faltered for a moment, glancing at Jordan, her small frame pressed against the wall, hands trembling ever so slightly. Not by someone who what?
“Not by someone who calls her own daughter disgusting,” Carly cut in sharply, now fully upright, her previous tears replaced with a pointed, almost vicious clarity.
The room went dead silent. Jordan’s head snapped up, eyes wide, and for a moment I saw in her expression a flicker of disbelief, as if she couldn’t believe someone had actually spoken the truth aloud.
“Those were her exact words,” I said, voice firmer now, addressing both Carly and the room. “Just now, in the kitchen. She called Jordan a disgusting daughter who ruined her life. And now you’re telling me to give her another child?”
I looked back at Jordan. She was frozen, watching Carly, waiting to see how her mother would twist it. I had seen that look before—the look of someone gaslit so many times they had stopped expecting anyone to believe them.
Carly, Dad said slowly, voice now steady but carrying weight, “Is that true?”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression. Doubt. Concern. For once, it wasn’t clear whose side he was on. Carly noticed too. She burst into fresh tears, the room thick with tension, unspoken accusations, and the weight of words that couldn’t be taken back.
Continue below
“You need to give me your baby when he’s born,” my sister Carly said, cornering me in the kitchen and grabbing my arm like I owed her something. I thought I heard her wrong since we were supposed to be celebrating.
Just 10 minutes ago, my husband Zach and I had announced we were having a boy, and now she was saying this to my face. “You’re out of your mind.” “Why would you say that to me?” I asked her. “I was meant to be a boy mom,” she said, stepping closer. I’ve been dreaming about it since I was a little girl. The mother son bond, little league games, all of it.
I didn’t understand what that had to do with me. And then she said it. Instead, I got stuck with a disgusting daughter who ruined my life. She said it like she was talking about a piece of furniture she regretted buying, not her 14-year-old daughter. “That’s your child, Carly,” I said, but she wasn’t listening. She gripped my arm tighter and looked at me with these crazy eyes.
“You have a husband.” You can try again, she said. Don’t you see, Enid? This is a miracle. I was meant to have your baby boy. I took her hand off of me. I’m not giving you my son just because you hate your child. She gritted her teeth and I could tell she was wondering why I wasn’t bowing at her feet and saying I would do whatever she wanted.
You don’t even want to be a mom that badly. Her voice cracked. I would cherish every second with him. But you, you didn’t even cry when you found out you were pregnant. That’s when Zach appeared in the doorway. And from the sick look on his face, I could tell he heard what she was demanding of me. His face went hard and he stepped between us.
“Get away from my wife.” “Karly didn’t flinch. “ Stay out of this. This is a family matter.” “You’re going to leave,” he said, his voice low and steady. “And you’re never going to speak to her again.” “Do you understand me?” She looked at him like he was an ant, then passed him directly at my stomach.
A smile spread across her face. It was slow and certain. “You can say no all you want,” she said. “Doesn’t change what’s coming.” She turned and walked out with confidence like she already knew how this was going to end. Zach grabbed my hand before I could follow her out. “We need to leave,” he said. “Right now.” But I shook my head.
“That’s what she wants. She wants to blow everything up and make me look crazy. If we leave now, she wins.” Zach looked at me like I was making a mistake, but he didn’t argue. We walked back into the living room and I knew immediately that Carly had told a twisted version of what just happened. She was curled into mom on the couch, sobbing like someone had died.
Dad was standing by the window with his arms crossed, jaw tight, refusing to look at me. And Carly’s daughter, Jordan, was in the corner by the bookshelf, pressed against the wall like she was trying to disappear. The only sound was Carly’s crying. I wasn’t going to let her control this. She just asked me to give her my baby, I said loud enough for everyone to hear.
Those were her exact words. She cornered me in the kitchen, grabbed my arm, and told me I need to hand over my son when he’s born. I waited for the shock, for the outrage, for someone to turn to Carly and demand to know what she was thinking. “Mom looked up at me. Her face was calm.” “We know,” she said. She told us. “Okay,” I said slowly.
“And and we think you should consider it.” I laughed because there was no way I heard that right, but nobody else was laughing. Dad was still staring out the window. Carly had stopped crying and was watching me through her fingers. Even Zach had gone still beside me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You think I should consider giving my baby away?” “Not giving him away?” Mom said like I was being dramatic.
Just letting Carly be more involved. Maybe even She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Maybe even letting her take the lead on raising him. You could still see him. You’d still be his mother, but Carly would be his primary caregiver. That’s insane. Is it? Dad finally turned from the window. His voice was calm, but there was an edge underneath it.
You work constantly. You’ve said yourself you weren’t even trying to get pregnant. You didn’t even seem that excited when you found out. I was excited. I said I was in shock. There’s a difference. Carly has been wanting this for 14 years. Mom said she’s read every parenting book. She’s taken classes. She would be home with him every single day while you’re at the office.
I’m not quitting my job to prove I deserve my own child. See, that’s the problem. Dad said, “It’s always about you. What you want, what you’re willing to sacrifice. Have you even thought about what’s best for the baby?” I felt like I was in an alternate universe. These were my parents, the people who raised me, and they were standing in this living room telling me to hand my son over to my sister like he was a borrowed car.
What’s best for the baby, I said slowly, is being raised by his actual mother, not by someone who, I stopped. I looked at Jordan, still frozen in the corner. She was staring at the floor, but I could see her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Not by someone who what? Carly said, sitting up now.
The tears were gone. Her voice was sharp. Go ahead, finish that sentence. Not by someone who calls her own daughter disgusting. The room went dead silent. Jordan’s head snapped up. Her eyes met mine for just a second and I saw something flash across her face. Surprise, like she couldn’t believe someone had actually said it out loud. That’s not Mom started.
She said it to my face. I cut her off. Just now in the kitchen. She called Jordan a disgusting daughter who ruined her life. Those were her exact words. And you’re telling me to give her another child? I looked at Jordan again. She was watching Carly now, waiting to see how she would spin it.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
