On Mother’s Day, my MIL handed me the $367 dinner bill and called it my “gift” to the real moms at the table. I smiled, paid my share, and then gave her a surprise.
I never thought I’d air family drama online, but here we are. I’m 35, married to Ryan for almost 10 years, and we’ve endured many fertility treatments, miscarriages, and heartache. It’s too painful to talk about now.
Becoming a mom is my greatest wish, but it hasn’t happened yet.
This year, my MIL, Cheryl, organized a “ladies-only dinner” with her, my SIL Amanda, my other SIL Holly, and me. Ryan said I should go and “just smile and get through it” because “you know how she is.” I knew.
Cheryl is the family matriarch, obsessed with tradition, especially reminding everyone that motherhood is a woman’s greatest purpose. She has three kids: Amanda, with two boys, Derek, who has a baby girl with Holly, and then me, who hasn’t had children.
Mother’s Day is usually tough. I find excuses not to go, but this year Cheryl insisted on a “special night” with just us girls. Ryan pushed me to go.
When I arrived, I felt something was off. Cheryl had that smug smile, and Amanda was talking about her kids while Holly showed off baby photos. Cheryl handed gift bags to Amanda and Holly but just gave me a stiff pat and no acknowledgment of the day.
She ordered prosecco for the mothers, gave me water without asking, and we all chatted about kids. I tried to fit in, but it felt distant.
Then Cheryl stood up and announced, “Since you’re not celebrating, Kaylee, would you treat us this year?” She slid the $367 check toward me, as if doing me a favor.
I opened the check. I had water and grilled chicken, but the total was for their lobster tails and prosecco. I smiled tightly and agreed to pay, but then said, “Actually, I have something to share.”
All three women looked at me, and I told them Ryan and I had decided to stop trying for a child. “We’re adopting,” I said. “We’ve been matched with a baby girl. She’s being born tomorrow in Denver.”
The room went silent.
I added, “So technically, this is my first Mother’s Day.”
I left $25 on the table, told Cheryl I wasn’t paying for the rest, and walked out.
The next day, we flew to Denver to meet our daughter, Maya. Holding her in my arms was everything I had ever wanted.
Cheryl hasn’t called since, and I’m okay with that. For the first time in a decade, I feel whole. I’m Maya’s mom, and that’s all that matters.
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