It felt thin, even to me.
The ultimatum came in the kitchen.
I was chopping vegetables. Derek was scrolling his phone. Patricia was “wiping” the already clean counter.
She waited until the TV was loud in the living room.
“If you don’t give my son a boy this time,” she said calmly, “you and your girls can crawl back to your parents. I won’t have Derek trapped in a house full of females.”
I turned off the stove. Looked at Derek.
He didn’t look shocked.
“You’re okay with that?” I asked.
He leaned back, smirking. “So when are you leaving?”
My legs went weak.
“Seriously? You’re fine with your mom talking like our daughters aren’t enough?”
He shrugged. “I’m 35, Claire. I need a son.”
Something in me cracked.
After that, Patricia started leaving empty boxes in the hallway.
“Just getting ready,” she’d say. “No point waiting until the last minute.”
