So when she found out my mom would be in the room when I delivered, she was unhappy.
“I think it makes more sense for ME to be there instead,” she announced over dinner one night, about a month before my due date. “I mean, Ethan and I are the ones covering the hospital bill. Your mother… well, what is she contributing?”
“I’m just saying, there’s usually only room for one support person besides the father. It should be someone who’s invested in this baby.”
“My mom is supporting me through labor,” I said, feeling my face flush with anger. “I need HER there. This isn’t about who paid for what.”
She pouted but didn’t argue further. She just smiled that thin smile that never reached her eyes and said, “We’ll see.”
I should have known then that she wasn’t letting it go.
“I won’t let anyone push my mom out,” I whispered to Ethan later that night. “Promise me you’ll back me up on this.”
“Of course,” he said, kissing my forehead. “My mom will just have to deal with it.”
“I can’t believe she would even suggest Mom isn’t ‘invested’ in this baby,” I said, my voice breaking. “She’s been there for every ultrasound and every doctor’s appointment when you couldn’t make it.”
Ethan sighed, pulling me closer. “I know. My mom… she equates money with love. It’s messed up, but it’s how she shows she cares.”
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