Chapter 3 - The Living Room Went SilentI walked into the living room and picked up the remote control. Without saying anything, I turned off the television.
The sudden silence made all four women look at me.
“Pack your belongings,” I said.
Nicole laughed because she believed I was joking. Brianna finally looked up from her phone. “What?”
“You heard me. You are leaving. Rebecca has been cleaning up after all of you while eight months pregnant. You’ve been insulting her, using her belongings, discouraging her from taking medication, and threatening to lie to me.”
My mother crossed her arms. “Pregnant women are emotional.”
“She has high blood pressure. Her doctor ordered her to rest.”
My mother’s expression hardened. “When I carried you, nobody waited on me.”
“That does not give you permission to make her suffer. Look around you.” I pointed at the trash covering our living room. “You created this mess. Then you expected my pregnant wife to remove it.”
“We’re your family,” my mother said. “We were your family first.”
For most of my life, that argument had worked on me. That night, I finally understood that being a good son did not require being a negligent husband.
“Mom, gratitude does not give you the right to mistreat my wife.”
Rebecca appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding one hand against her back. My mother pointed at her. “She has turned you against us.”
I took out my phone and opened the family mobile account. “Brianna, your phone line will be transferred to your name. Nicole and Kelsey, the same applies to yours. Food delivery apps are being disconnected. My credit card information is removed. I will pay for three nights at a modest motel. After that, you are responsible for yourselves.”
My mother looked genuinely shocked. “You would choose her over us?”
“If you force me to choose between protecting my pregnant wife and financing four people who mistreat her, then yes. I choose my wife.”
My mother slapped me. The sound echoed through the room.
Before anyone could react, Rebecca made a strained sound. Both of her hands were pressed against her stomach. Her breathing became shallow.
“I’m having pain,” she whispered.
I lifted her into my arms.
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My mother stepped forward. “She’s doing this to manipulate you.”
I looked at her, my voice dead and absolute. “If anything happens to my wife or my son, I will spend the rest of my life remembering that while she was in pain, you accused her of pretending.”
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