“I’m coming right now, baby. Put Jacob on the phone.”
When my ten-year-old son’s voice came through, it was barely audible. “Mom, please don’t be mad at us. We didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“You didn’t cause any trouble, sweetheart,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
The drive to Margaret’s house felt like an eternity. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. Ethan sat beside me in silence because, for once, he couldn’t deny what was happening.
When we arrived, I discovered that the weekend had been even worse than I had imagined.
My sister-in-law’s kids had bullied mine relentlessly, calling them names and excluding them from every activity. Margaret had yelled at Lily for simply asking for a glass of water, telling her she was being demanding and ungrateful.
My son had been told to stay out of sight when guests came over because he was “too loud and bothersome.” They weren’t allowed to watch TV with the other kids.
Instead, they had to clean up after Hannah’s children, picking up toys and wiping tables like little servants. And Margaret had said, loud enough for both of them to hear, “Their mother spoils them rotten. Someone has to teach them how to live in the real world.”
When I stepped inside and saw Margaret laughing over cake with her “favorites,” something inside me completely broke.
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