Chapter 4

We argued for nearly an hour—though honestly, it was just me shouting at him.

Christopher kept repeating the same tired lines: that he’d give me answers eventually, that this was only a temporary arrangement.

Exhausted, I finally collapsed onto the bed.

He pulled me close, his face etched with genuine pain.

“Evelyn, just give me some time,” he said quietly. “I’ll make this right. Please trust me.”

In that moment, I wanted to slap him senseless—or walk out the door for good.

But I couldn’t. I loved him too much.

After the chaos of the day, we both drifted off quickly.

Less than two hours later, the baby’s wailing jolted us awake.

The little thing didn’t look like much, but his lungs were powerful—he screamed nonstop for over ten minutes.

I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled down the hall in my robe.

Margaret was still in bed, fully dressed, as if she’d been waiting for me.

The baby’s cries hitched unevenly, tugging at something deep in my chest.

All the formula and baby supplies had been bought by me earlier that day.

I prepared a bottle exactly as instructed and pressed the nipple to his mouth.

He curled into my arms, tiny lips suckling eagerly, one plump hand clutching the collar of my nightgown.

For a fleeting second, a strange warmth flickered inside me.

Then Margaret spoke, voice soft but deliberate:

“Evelyn, babies need nighttime feedings. At my age, I simply can’t manage it. Why don’t you take a month off work to help me through this?”

My guard snapped back up instantly. I opened my mouth to refuse—

—but Christopher stepped in from the hallway before I could speak.

“Mom, we’ll both support you,” he said firmly, “but Evelyn’s job is demanding. She can’t take a full month off.”

Hearing him defend me eased the knot in my chest, just slightly.

Margaret immediately burst into tears, clutching the edge of her blanket.

“A son grows up and forgets his mother,” she sobbed. “When I had you, I was just as weak—and now even my own child won’t care for me.”

I couldn’t let her keep crying. I knew Christopher would cave the moment guilt took hold.

“Mom,” I said quickly, “I’m just worried I’d do a poor job. How about we hire a professional postpartum caregiver?”

“No strangers in my home,” she shot back, wiping her eyes with theatrical flair.

Realizing there was no reasoning with a woman fresh from childbirth—especially one so manipulative—I retreated to our bedroom without another word.

Minutes later, Christopher appeared, cradling the baby in his arms.

“Evelyn,” he said gently, “we should sleep with him tonight. Mom’s already exhausted, and crying during confinement can damage her eyes permanently. The baby’s here now—we can’t undo it. I’ve talked to her. We’ll hire a month nurse after all. Just until she finishes sitting the month. Is that okay?”

I stayed silent for a long moment… then nodded.

What choice did I really have? Kick her out? File for divorce?

At least tonight, Christopher had chosen me. That counted for something.

The next morning, Margaret acted like a completely different person.

She apologized sincerely, admitted she should’ve consulted us before making such a life-altering decision, and even offered to reverse the baby’s household registration.

I’ve always been soft-hearted when it comes to saving face.

So I accepted her apology, took a week off work, and agreed to stay home until we found a suitable caregiver.

I had no idea that this small concession would plunge me into weeks of living hell.