My parents kicked me out one day after my C-section—with my newborn in my arms. Then my husband pulled up, looked at my face, and made one phone call that changed everything.

Suzanne moved fast. Much faster than Wendy’s sore, sleep-deprived body could anticipate. One moment she was near the dresser. The next her hand was in Wendy’s hair.

She twisted hard.

Pain exploded across Wendy’s scalp and down through her neck. The sudden jerk of her upper body pulled viciously at her abdomen, a bolt so sharp through the incision that her vision flashed white. She gasped and clutched herself instinctively with her free arm, terrified she had torn something internally. Paige startled and began to scream.

“You are moving just fine,” Suzanne hissed, face inches away. Wendy could smell coffee on her breath. “Now pack your bag, stop your pathetic whining, and get out. I will not have you ruining Cheryl’s first day home with Jaden.”

Wendy’s body shook. The room blurred. She could not fully process that her mother’s hand was still wound in her hair, that Paige was crying, that the pain in her stomach had become an animal thing clawing outward from the incision.

Then Suzanne let go like she had merely adjusted a curtain.