Chapter 3 - The Spare Key
The illusion of safety shattered on a Tuesday. I was 24 weeks pregnant, working from home. Ryan was at the office. I had just stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, when I heard the distinct sound of the front door unlocking.
Panic seized me. I grabbed my phone, ready to dial emergency services, when a familiar, singsong voice echoed from the hallway.
“Hello? Mommy’s home! I brought maternity clothes!”
I froze. Then, the panic turned to white-hot fury.
I marched into the living room, dripping wet, to find my mother setting shopping bags on my dining table. She turned, offering a wide, innocent smile that faltered when she saw my face.
“How did you get in here?” I demanded.
“Oh, I had a spare key cut from the one you gave your dad for emergencies,” she waved a dismissive hand. “Don't be silly, go put some clothes on. I bought you the cutest dresses.”
“You went behind my back, copied my house key, and walked into my locked home uninvited.”
“I am your mother!” she snapped, her patience vanishing. “I don't need an invitation to check on my pregnant daughter! You haven't answered my calls in weeks. I was worried sick!”
“You weren't worried. You were losing control.” I held out my hand. “Give me the key.”
She clutched her purse to her chest. “No. What if there's an emergency?”
“If there's an emergency, I will call my husband. Give me the key, Mom. Now.”
May you like
She threw the key onto the table, tears of genuine anger springing to her eyes. “You are going to need me when that baby comes,” she spat. “And you’ll be sorry you treated me like a stranger.”
She stormed out. I locked the door behind her, sliding down the wood paneling until I hit the floor, finally letting the tears fall.
