We were supposedly “saving for a house.” That was the official story. The truth? Derek enjoyed being the golden boy again. His mother cooked, his father paid most of the bills, and I was the live-in nanny who didn’t even own a wall.
We already had three daughters: Mason was eight, Lily five, Harper three. They were my entire world. To Patricia, my mother-in-law, they were three failures.
“Three girls. Bless her heart.”
For illustrative purposes only
When I was pregnant with Mason, she said: “Let’s hope you don’t ruin this family line, honey.”
When Mason was born, she sighed: “Well, next time.”
Baby #2?
“Some women just aren’t built for sons. Maybe it’s your side.”
By baby #3, she didn’t bother sugarcoating. She’d pat their heads and say, “Three girls. Bless her heart,” like I was a tragic headline.
