My mother-in-law looked at my 38-week pregnant belly, told my husband, “Put a lock on both doors and let her give birth alone,” and then went off on a luxury trip to Aspen, paid for with my money. Seven days later, they returned tanned, smiling, and dragging suitcases full of shopping bags…

“Where are you staying, Audrey, and why won’t you just let us come inside so we can fix this mess?” Justin asked with a shaking voice. I simply told him I was somewhere where my son was safe and loved and that he would never step foot in my house again.

When he complained that they had nowhere else to go, I told him how strange it was that I felt the same way when he turned the key on me. Beulah snapped and called me ungrateful which was the moment I realized that she would never actually understand the gravity of her cruelty.

I asked her if she wanted to list all the things she had supposedly done for me or if we should start with her calling my labor a dramatic episode. Skylar shouted in the background that the money they spent was Justin’s money too but I quickly corrected her misconception.

“Every cent of this house and those accounts belongs to me, Skylar, and I am done treating your lives like an endless supply of my hard work,” I said firmly. Justin lowered his voice and promised to fix everything as soon as he saw me in person so we could move past this.

I told him he would only see me if my legal counsel allowed it and he would meet his son when a judge determined his fitness as a father. I heard a sharp gasp from Beulah before she whispered that I wouldn’t dare take her grandson away from her family.

“I don’t have to dare anything, Beulah, because I have already survived the worst thing you could ever do to a human being,” I replied. I hung up the phone and watched as the notifications from Justin began to flood my screen with a mix of anger and desperation.

His messages shifted from blaming me for the situation to pleading for a chance to explain why they had made such a terrible choice. Later that afternoon, my attorney, Mr. Thorne, sent me a photograph of the three of them sitting in the lobby of a budget hotel.

They were surrounded by their expensive suitcases and designer bags but they looked like people who had lost the only world they knew. Mr. Thorne confirmed that the formal legal notice had been delivered and told me that we would proceed with the next steps of the filing.

I whispered an apology to my son for not leaving that toxic environment sooner than I did while I stroked his soft cheek. Phoebe stepped closer and told me not to apologize for surviving a situation that would have broken anyone else in my position.