When I came home from the hospital with my newborn, I saw a note on the table. My heart warmed, thinking it was a kind message from my mother-in-law, Abigail. Maybe a sweet “Welcome home, Mommy!” or “Congratulations on your little bundle of joy!”
I shifted my newborn in my arms and opened the note with a smile. But as my eyes scanned the words, my stomach dropped.
“You owe me $600 for feeding and walking Rich. My time costs money. You have my bank details.”
For a moment, I just stood there, stunned. My mother-in-law was charging us for taking care of our golden retriever while I was in labor?
“Jake,” I called sharply. My husband was in the living room, setting down the baby’s car seat. “You might want to come see this.”
He walked in, took one look at the note, and groaned. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” I said, waving the paper in front of his face. “Your mom is demanding money for watching our dog while I was pushing your child out of my body.”
Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to her.”
“No,” I snapped, stopping him in his tracks. “I’ll handle this.” And an idea was already forming in my mind. A little lesson in fairness.
A week earlier, before the chaos of labor, I had been sprawled out on the couch, my lower back aching with sharp pains. My golden retriever, Rich, rested his big fluffy head on my lap, his deep brown eyes full of concern, like he knew something was happening.
“Jake!” I called, gritting my teeth as another wave of discomfort hit me.
Jake was in the kitchen, stacking turkey and cheese onto a sandwich. “Yeah, babe?”
I sighed. “We need to figure out what to do about Rich while we’re at the hospital. Can we ask your mom to help?”
Jake walked over, sandwich in hand, and kissed my forehead. “Don’t stress, Doris. Mom loves Rich. She’ll handle it.”
That was my husband. Always confident, always thinking things would just work out. And most of the time, I loved that about him. But sometimes, like now, it made me nervous.
“Just make sure she knows it’s only for a couple of days,” I muttered, rubbing my belly.
Later that night, Jake called his mom. Abigail agreed without hesitation. “Of course, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m happy to help!”
The next morning, we dropped Rich off before heading to the hospital. As I scratched behind his ears, I whispered, “Be a good boy for Grandma, okay?”
Abigail smiled, waving us off. “Don’t worry about a thing! I just wish I could be there at the hospital.”
We had made it clear we wanted to experience the birth alone, no family in the waiting room. It had been a tough pregnancy, and I just needed Jake with me. Abigail said she understood, but maybe she was still holding a little grudge.
“Mom, you know our wishes,” Jake said gently.
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “You modern kids! Now go have my grandchild!”
Labor was something straight out of a horror movie. Nobody warns you enough about the sheer pain of it. I gripped the hospital bed rails, convinced I might actually lose my mind. Jake, bless his soul, stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand even though I was squeezing it so hard his knuckles turned white.
But when they placed our son in my arms, the pain, the exhaustion, everything melted away. He was tiny, wrinkly, and absolutely perfect. Jake and I sobbed like fools, overwhelmed by love.
For three days, our world was just us and our baby, wrapped in a cocoon of happiness. Finally, the hospital discharged us, and we were ready to go home.
Jake called Abigail to let her know. “Oh, I’ll give you both a few days to settle in before I visit,” she said sweetly. “Take your time!”
That was kind of her.
Or so I thought.
Fast forward to me standing in the kitchen, holding the outrageous $600 bill from my mother-in-law.
Abigail showed up a week later, cooing over the baby as soon as she walked in. “Oh, he’s precious! He has Jake’s nose!”
For a moment, I thought she had come purely to see her grandson. But then she handed him back to me, brushed off her hands, and said, “So, when can I expect my payment? I’ve waited long enough.”
My smile didn’t waver. “Of course, Abigail. I’ll pay you—on one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Condition? What condition?”
I walked over to the computer desk and pulled out a folder I had prepared. I had spent the last few days compiling a list—every favor, every dollar we had spent on her, every time we had dropped everything to help her.
“Since you’re charging us for your services, I figured it’s only fair we do the same.”
I slid the folder across the table. Abigail picked it up, flipping through the pages, her expression shifting from curiosity to horror.
“Helping you move last year? That’s $800. We gave you a discount. Then there’s the time we paid for your car repairs when your transmission failed—$1,200. And let’s not forget the babysitting I did for your neighbor’s kids at your request. That’s another $600.”
Abigail’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “This is ridiculous! You can’t charge me for things family does for each other!”
I crossed my arms. “Exactly. Family helps each other without expecting payment. Or at least, that’s what I thought.”
She sputtered, “But… but this is different! I had to rearrange my schedule for Rich!”
I raised an eyebrow. “And I had to rearrange my entire life to have your grandchild. So, if you want to talk about fair compensation, I’d say we’re more than even.”
Abigail turned red, her lips pressing into a tight line. Then, without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
The baby fussed at the noise, and Jake, who had been silently watching from the kitchen, let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
I smirked. “Damn right.”
I sank onto the couch, cradling my baby. Rich trotted over and rested his head on my knee, his tail wagging. I scratched his ears, looking down at my son, my heart full.
Abigail might not have learned her lesson, but she wouldn’t be bothering us about that $600 again. And if she did?
Well, I still had the folder.
Let her try me.
