Chapter 2

The stress of that visit did exactly what I feared. Later that night, back in Chicago, the pains got worse, closer together. Michael rushed me to the hospital.

Leo was born via emergency C-section, two weeks premature. He was tiny, fragile, and whisked away to the NICU.

Michael called my parents from the hospital waiting room, his voice strained. He told them about Leo, about the C-section, about the NICU.

There were no congratulations. No offers of help. Not even a phone call to me in the following days. It was as if their grandchild, their first grandchild, didn't exist. The silence from them was a cold, hard wall.

Leo spent two long weeks in the NICU. I was recovering from surgery, exhausted, and terrified for my son. Michael was my rock, spending every spare moment at the hospital with me and Leo.

Finally, the day came when we could bring Leo home. He was still small, but he was a fighter. Holding him in my arms in our own quiet apartment, I felt a fragile sense of peace.

It lasted less than twenty-four hours.

The phone rang. It was my father.

"Sarah," he said, his voice urgent. "Your mother... she had the baby. Jacob. He's premature too, in the NICU."

My heart squeezed, a strange mix of emotions.

"And Susan," he continued, "she's not doing well. Postpartum complications. Her blood pressure is dangerously high."

I waited, knowing what was coming.

"You need to come home, Sarah. Right away. Your mother needs you. Jacob needs you."

I was speechless. "Dad, I just had a C-section. Leo was in the NICU for two weeks. He just got home. I can't..."

"You can do your postpartum recovery here," he interrupted, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "You can cook, clean, take care of Jacob, and look after your mother."

"Are you serious?" I asked, aghast. "I have my own newborn, a premature baby, to care for. I'm still healing."

"We need you, Sarah."

"You need to hire a postpartum doula," I said, trying to stay calm. "Or a night nurse. There are services for this."

Suddenly, Susan was on the phone, her voice weak but laced with manipulation. "Sarah, honey, we can't afford that. Not with David's small pension. And Jacob... he needs this special imported formula. It's so expensive."

Her voice broke into a sob. "We spent everything on the nursery, getting ready for him."

The lavish nursery. The designer clothes. The top-of-the-line gear.

Then, her voice firmed. "You need to pay for a nanny for Jacob, Sarah. A good one. For at least three months. Then a regular one after that. You have to cover all the costs."

I was stunned into silence. Pay for their choices? For their "miracle baby" after they'd shown zero interest in my own son?

"The nursery looked pretty expensive, Mom," I said, my voice flat.

There was a pause, then her voice turned sharp. "Don't you lecture me about money, young lady. This is your brother!"