Surprise, lovewere moving in with my mum, my husband said as I walked in from the hospital.
Have you lost your mind? Paul? We agreed on Michael! Mike!
Emily stared at her husband, her eyes wide with shock and hurt. The thin hospital gown hung loosely on her slim frame, and her voice, still weak from childbirth, carried a sharp edge. Andrew stood by the window, gripping a plastic cup of cold tea, avoiding her gaze.
Em, please understand Mum insisted. Its after her father. It means everything to her. He was all she had.
And what about me? About us? We spent nine months picking a name! We read meanings, argued, laughedwe chose one we both loved! What does your mum have to do with this?
Shell be heartbroken if we dont name him Paul. She says its about respect.
Respect is remembering someonenot forcing a name on a child who has to live with it! Emily fought back tears of frustration. We had an agreement, Andrew! You gave me your word!
I know, Im sorry. But I couldnt say no to her, he finally turned, his eyes pleading yet stubborn. Lets not argue now. You need rest. Were being discharged tomorrowtheyre expecting us.
He reached to hug her, but she pulled away. The word home suddenly felt hollow. Just yesterday, shed dreamed of walking into their cosy flat, laying their sleeping son in the crib theyd lovingly assembled. Now, the word stung. She blamed the exhaustion, the hormonesbut the unease lingered.
The next day, the bustle of leaving the hospital distracted her. Flowers, clumsy congratulations from nurses, the blue-ribboned bundle in her armslight yet impossibly precious. Andrew was attentive, carrying bags, opening car doors. Emily held their son close, breathing in his milky sweetness. This was happiness. Their arguments were trivial. They were a family now.
Then the car kept driving past their street.
Where are we going? We missed the turn, Emily said, peering out the window.
Not to ours, Andrew replied too brightly, avoiding her eyes. Surprise!
Her heart skipped. She knew this neighbourhood, this peeling-paint building. His mother, Margaret, lived here.
What surprise? Andrew, whats happening?
He parked and cut the engine. Silence settled, broken only by the babys soft breaths.
Surprise, lovewere moving in with Mum. His smile was strained, as if announcing a lottery win. I thought youd struggle alone with the baby. Mum can help. And moneyll be tight while youre on leave.
Emily sat frozen, struggling to process it. The air felt too thin. This stranger beside her had shattered her world without a second thought.
You decided this for me? Without asking? You drop this on me with a newborn in my arms?
Em, its for the best! His voice turned defensive. Mums given us the big room, got everything ready. You shouldve seen how hard she worked!
The front door swung open. Margaret beamed, rushing to the car.
Youre here, my darlings! Andrew, grab the bagsEmily, bring my little Paul! Oh, isnt he precious?
*My* little Paul. The words struck like a slap. The name, the moveit was all planned. She was just an extra in their script.
Inside, the flat smelled of mothballs and something sour. Their gifted room was crowded with heavy furniture. The crib by the window looked out of place.
Make yourselves comfortable! Margaret fussed. Ive cleared two shelves for you. Andrew will fetch the rest tomorrow.
What rest? Emily asked numbly.
From your flat! Well rent it outevery penny helps! Margaret chirped, as if it were obvious.
Emily looked at Andrew. He shifted guiltily, his eyes begging: *Not now.*
She said nothing. Only emptiness echoed inside her. She unwrapped the baby, fighting tears as she fed him. Margaret hovered.
Enough milk, dear? He looks pale. You should supplement. My neighbours grandson was formula-fedstrong as an ox! Saves your back too.
Ive enough milk, Emily clipped.
Suit yourself. But youre swaddling him wrongtoo tight. His legs must lie straight. Here, let me
Margaret reached, but Emily clutched her son closer. No. Ive got this.
That night, once they were alone, Emily finally spoke.
How could you, Andrew? How could you sell our life without a word?
Its just temporary! Two years, till youre back at work. Mums rightwe need help.
I need *your* helpnot a husband who runs to Mummy! His name is Michael. I wont budge on that.
Keep your voice down! What does it matter? Its Michael on the papers.
Her throat burned. He didntor wouldntunderstand. This was her last boundary.
Days blurred together. Margaret wasnt crueljust helpful. She woke early to make Andrew proper porridge (Emilys was too watery). She barged in at dawn: Up! Feed the baby! (though he slept soundly). She rewashed nappies Emily had cleaned (powders full of chemicals).
Every suggestion was a jab. Emily felt erased as a mother. Andrew saw only idyllic scenes: Mum doting on the baby, dinner ready, the house spotless. Her complaints were nagging.
One evening, as Emily bathed Michael in chamomile water, Margaret marched in.
That herbal nonsense again! Hell get allergies! Use potassium permanganateit heals the belly button. Old ways are best!
Its healed. The doctor never mentioned permanganate.
Doctors! What do they know? Ive raised children! Margaret shoved past, dumping purple crystals into the water.
Emily gasped. Thatll burn his skin!
Nonsense! I know what Im doing!
In that moment, Emily snapped. This wasnt careit was war. A war for her child, her family, her right to live.
She lifted Michael, wrapped him tightly, and left. That evening, when Andrew returned, she waited with a packed bag.
Were leaving.
His face paled. Where? Its nearly dark!
Anywhere. My mums. A rented flat. Anywhere but here.
Margaret stormed in. Whats this? Ungrateful girl! After all Ive done
Thank you, Margaret, Emily cut in coldly. But well manage alone.
Andrew! Shes turning you against me!
He looked torn. Finally, he exhaled. Mum Emilys right. Were going.
Margarets face twisted. Traitor! I gave you everything! Get outand dont come back!
They left under her curses. In the car, Emily cried silentlytears of relief. Andrew gripped the wheel, knuckles white.
Her mother, Helen, opened the door, took one look, and hugged her. Come in, loves. Ill put the kettle on.
The first weeks were hard. Andrew was guilt-ridden, torn between mother and wife. Margaret ignored his calls. Emily, though, bloomed. In her mothers calm home, she finally breathed. No criticism, no snatched decisionsjust peace. Michael slept better, as if sensing it too.
One night, after putting him down, Andrew sat beside Emily.
Im sorry. I was a fool. I thought I was helpingbut I nearly ruined us. I was scared scared I couldnt provide. So I took the easy way.
Easy for you, she murmured.
Yes. For me. He took her hand. I love you. And Mike. No one will ever come between us again.
A month later, they reclaimed their flat. The penalty ate their savings, but it didnt matter. Stepping inside, Emily exhaled. *Home.*
She tucked Michael in, whispering, Sleep well, love. Everythings alright now.
Margaret never forgave them. Andrew visited occasionally with groceriestense, brief trips. She refused to see her grandson. Emily pitied her but never regretted standing her ground. Shed fought for her family.
Life wasnt perfect. Money was tight; they argued over petty things. But it was *theirs*a fragile, honest fortress built brick by brick, with trust and hard-won lessons. And that was everything.
