Sunday, 7:00 p.m.

Lily spilled soda on purpose and told me, “That’s what you’re here for.”

Each entry felt like another punch to the chest.

Then I turned another page.

And everything changed.

Emily’s face went white.

“I didn’t want you to see that part.”

I read anyway.

Teresa said that after the baby is born, she’ll make sure she’s the one making decisions. She said Ethan doesn’t know how to control his own house.

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Emily started crying again.

“Your mom keeps saying I won’t be a good mother. That she’ll raise the baby herself. That if I argue, she’ll tell everyone I’m unstable.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t family conflict.

This wasn’t old-fashioned thinking.

This was something else.

They were trying to break her.

I looked at Emily.

“Do you have proof?”

She hesitated.

Then she unlocked her phone.

There were recordings.

Videos.

Messages.

Not because she wanted revenge.

Because she’d reached the point where she needed evidence just to convince herself she wasn’t losing her mind.

I pressed play.

My mother’s voice filled the room.

“When the baby gets here, Emily can either straighten up or leave. But the baby stays. He’s a Carter. Not hers.”

My hands started shaking.

Another recording.

Brittany laughed.

“Record her. Look at her washing dishes with that giant belly. She looks like a detergent commercial.”

Kayla laughed with her.

“Don’t tell Ethan. That idiot thinks his little princess is perfect.”

I felt sick.

For months I’d been working myself into the ground to support people who were destroying my marriage from inside my own home.

I kissed Emily’s forehead.

“Get some sleep.”

Her eyes widened.

“Ethan, please don’t do anything crazy.”

I stood.

“I’m not.”

I looked toward the living room.

“I’m going to do something much worse.”

I was going to make them face consequences.

FINAL PART

When I walked back into the living room, nothing had changed.

The TV was still blaring.

The pizza boxes were still everywhere.

And my mother and sisters were still acting like they owned the place.

Mom spoke first.

“Is her little performance over? Because somebody still has laundry to do tomorrow.”

I walked straight to the television.

Pulled the plug.

And silence hit the room.

“What the hell?” Brittany snapped.

I held up Emily’s notebook.

“This is what the hell.”

Nobody spoke.

I pressed play on the first recording.

My mother’s voice echoed through the apartment.

“When the baby gets here, Emily can leave, but the baby stays.”

The room froze.

Brittany looked down.

Kayla swallowed hard.

Lily’s face drained of color.

Mom immediately switched tactics.

“That’s out of context.”

I laughed.

A cold laugh.

“Really? Was forcing my pregnant wife to clean up after four adults also out of context?”

“She’s your wife,” Mom snapped. “She should help.”

I took a step forward.

“This apartment exists because of me.”

Nobody answered.

“The rent? Me.”

Silence.

“The groceries? Me.”

More silence.

“The internet, the phones, the prescriptions, the bills? Me.”

Mom looked away.

“And after everything I’ve done, you treated the woman carrying my child like a servant.”

Brittany tried to shrug.

“It was just dishes.”

I pointed toward the kitchen.

“Then go wash them yourself.”

She didn’t move.

Exactly.

I pulled out my phone and called my attorney friend, Marcus.

I put him on speaker.

“Marcus, I need paperwork drawn up tomorrow morning. I want legal documentation for harassment, theft, and removal of occupants from my residence.”

Mom jumped to her feet.

“You’re throwing your own mother out?”

“No.”

I stared directly at her.

“I’m removing people who endangered my wife and my son.”

Kayla started crying.

“Where are we supposed to go?”

I looked at her calmly.

“Get jobs.”

That hit harder than any scream.

Then Lily suddenly broke down.

And what she said next shattered whatever was left of the family.

“Mom took Emily’s hospital money.”

Everyone turned.

“What?”

Lily burst into tears.

“The cash she saved for the delivery. Mom took it from her dresser.”

The room went silent.

I looked at my mother.

She couldn’t even meet my eyes.

I ran upstairs.

Emily was already crying.

That told me everything.

Eighteen thousand dollars.

Money she’d saved for diapers, medical bills, and emergencies.

Gone.

And my mother had convinced her not to tell me because she was afraid I’d stop loving her.

That was the moment something finally died inside me.

Not my love for my mother.