Chapter 4

A few days later, my mother called again. Her voice was no longer weak and pleading, it was sharp, angry.

"Sarah, I've been thinking," she said, "Your husband, Michael, he makes good money, doesn't he? That software job."

I stayed silent, bracing myself.

"He can pay your mortgage," she declared. "And all of Leo's expenses. That way, your teaching salary, it can all go to Jacob. It's only fair. Jacob is your blood."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Mom, Michael's salary is our money. For our family. For our son."

"But Jacob needs it more!" she insisted. "I even talked to a free legal aid lawyer. They said you have a moral obligation to support your sibling, especially a minor."

A moral obligation. After they showed no moral obligation to support me, or even acknowledge their own grandson.

"Jacob is your son, Mom. Your responsibility. David's responsibility. Not mine. And certainly not Michael's."

"You're just being stubborn!" she shrieked. "You have that condo, all that money from Betty just sitting there! You could help us!"

"The condo is not up for discussion. Grandma Betty's money was for me. And my teaching salary is for my family."

"You'll regret this, Sarah," she hissed, her voice filled with venom. "I'll make you regret it."

Then she hung up.

The threats were unsettling. What could she possibly do?

Michael and I talked about it. We were already low-contact, but this felt different. This felt like a declaration of war.

We decided to focus on Leo, on our new life. My parents had made their choices, and we were making ours.

Leo was about six weeks old. He was still small, but gaining weight, and his doctors were pleased. We decided to have a small, informal christening gathering at our condo. Just a few close friends, Michael's parents, my Aunt Carol and Uncle Joe – my father's sister and her husband. They knew about Grandma Betty's inheritance and her intentions. They had always been kind to me.

I didn't invite my parents. After their recent behavior, I couldn't imagine them being part of such a special day.

The gathering was lovely. Our friends cooed over Leo. Aunt Carol held him, her eyes misty.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Michael went to answer it. My heart lurched when I heard my mother's voice, loud and demanding.

Susan and David walked into our living room, uninvited, with baby Jacob in a carrier.

Susan's eyes scanned the room, a contemptuous sneer on her face.

"Well, well," she said loudly, interrupting a conversation. "Having a party, are we? Without inviting the baby's grandparents?"