I was still healing from a C-section when my entitled sister-in-law turned my home into her personal hotel and drained the money I’d saved for my baby. I stayed quiet longer than I should have, but by the time I drove her to the airport, I had already made sure the last surprise was mine. By the third day after my C-section, I could do almost everything one-handed.
I could warm a bottle while balancing my newborn, Spencer, against my shoulder. I could slide the laundry basket down the hallway with my foot. But what I couldn’t do was explain to my sister-in-law why showing up unannounced with three children, two suitcases each, and a husband already complaining was maybe not ideal.
“Oh good, you’re home,” Becca said when I opened the door. She swept past me like she owned the place. Her husband, Matthew, followed behind her with their kids, Liam, Jonah, and Jessie.
“We’ll stay here,” she called. “Hotels are ridiculous this time of year.”
My husband, Thomas, came out of the kitchen, a burp cloth over his shoulder. “Becca?
What are you doing here?”
“Easter weekend,” she said brightly. “Surprise, brother.”
Thomas looked at me first. He always did when his family became a problem.
“It’s just for a couple of days,” Becca said. Behind her, Matthew dropped a duffel bag in my hallway and said, “Do you have coffee that isn’t flavored, Talia? I can’t do vanilla.”
Instead, because being polite had been ruining my life in little ways for years, I said, “I’ll clear the guest room.”
Becca smiled.
“You’re a lifesaver, Talia.”
No, I thought. I’m just too tired to fight.
***
I came back from the guest room already out of breath, and Jessie had somehow managed to spill apple juice across the couch. “Jessie, sweetheart —” I started. “Oops,” Becca said from the armchair, barely glancing up from her phone.
“You’ll sort that out, Tals?”
Thomas was already reaching for paper towels. I handed Spencer to him and crouched before I could stop myself. Pain pulled low across my stomach so sharply that I had to bite back a sound.
“Talia,” Thomas said quietly, “don’t. You shouldn’t be doing all that, honey.”
“Then stop your niece from baptizing the furniture,” I muttered. By bedtime, the house felt occupied.
I found Matthew’s sock under the coffee table and Jonah inside the kitchen cabinet where I kept Spencer’s bottles. “Buddy, no,” I said, crossing the room. “That’s stuff for your baby cousin.”
Before I got there, Becca called from the bathroom.
The story doesn’t end here –
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