After giving birth to my twin girls, I imagined joy. Instead, I came home to betrayal.
Derek, my husband, called last minute: “Can’t pick you up. My mom’s had chest pains.” I understood. She had always controlled him, but I didn’t expect to come home in a taxi and find our belongings thrown on the lawn—and a note in Derek’s handwriting: “Get out of here with your little moochers. I know everything.”
Locked out, heartbroken, carrying newborns, I called my mom. She rescued us. But the next day, needing answers, I returned.
There was Lorraine—Derek’s mom—calmly sipping tea. She had faked the heart attack. Lied to Derek. Took his phone. Wrote that hateful note. Her reason?
“You failed. I wanted a boy.”
I was stunned. Furious. I told Derek everything. His face changed. We rushed home, and when he confronted her, Lorraine broke—but he stood firm. “Pack her things,” he told me.
She left. And we rebuilt.
Lorraine tried to tear us apart over gender. But instead, she revealed the power of our love.
Sometimes, love is strongest when it’s tested. And a mother’s fight—for her children, for her family—is unbreakable.
