That was the terrible part. Some ancient reflex in her still believed help would arrive if she needed it badly enough, but another older reflex knew better than to ask. She fed Paige in silence and listened to the house breathe around her, formal and indifferent.
Morning brought light through the curtains and the illusion of control. Wendy had dozed in fragments. Her medication schedule already felt slippery. Paige rooted against her chest, red-faced and impatient. Wendy had just managed to get the baby latched when the bedroom door burst open without a knock.
Suzanne stood in the doorway fully dressed, hair smooth, lipstick precise, expression already sharpened into decision. Wendy recognized that face from childhood. It was the face her mother wore when the outcome had been chosen before the conversation began.
“Wendy,” Suzanne said briskly. “You need to pack your things. Cheryl’s coming over today with baby Jaden, and she needs this room more than you do.”
For one blank second Wendy assumed she had misheard. “What?”
Suzanne stepped farther in. “Your sister’s on her way. She needs space. She needs quiet. She needs help. Go ahead and start packing.”
Paige suckled, then lost the latch and began to fuss. Wendy tried to adjust her with clumsy careful hands. “Mom, I had surgery yesterday.”
“Two days ago,” Suzanne corrected.
“I can barely move.”
Suzanne sighed, impatient. “You’re moving fine. I saw you walking around last night.”
Walking around. As if Wendy had been doing laps for pleasure rather than dragging herself to the bathroom because biology had not paused for surgery.
“Please,” Wendy said, hating how quickly tears threatened. “Give me one day. One day so I can move properly.”
“No. Cheryl is coming.”
There it was. Not a discussion. A decree. Same as always.
Wendy looked down at Paige because looking at her mother made the room feel dangerous. “You told me I could stay here for a week.”
Suzanne’s voice sharpened. “Don’t talk to me like I owe you anything.”
The air changed then. Wendy felt it before she understood it. Something old and rotten coming to the surface. The version of her mother who did not merely favor Cheryl but actively resented Wendy for having needs.
“I’m not saying you owe me,” Wendy whispered. “I’m saying I just had a baby. Please.”