“Oh, what a coincidence!” Angela beamed, standing right in front of us in a floral swimsuit. “I had no idea you’d be here!”
Later, when we bought our first home, Angela went house hunting. A month later, she “accidentally” moved in next door.
I tried to be understanding. After all, she loved her son. I understood parental love. But this?
This was suffocating. Angela wasn’t just involved—she was everywhere, all the time.
And when Carl and I announced my pregnancy, things only got worse. She accompanied me to every doctor’s appointment, questioned everything I ate, and even signed us up for a pregnancy class …a class meant for couples.
I wished she hated me. At least then, she’d keep her distance. But what happened at our gender reveal party? That was the final straw.
Carl and I stood before our guests, a black balloon between us, excitement buzzing in the air.
“On the count of three,” Carl said.
We popped the balloon. Pink confetti exploded into the air.
For a moment, everything was perfect. Then, Angela ran toward us, grinning, holding up a champagne glass.
