Daniel accepted the documents and scanned them in silence. As he read, the softness left his face.
“Mom…” he said at last, his voice low. “Emily is right.”
“What did you just say?”
“You crossed a line.” He looked directly at Margaret. “This is her home. Our family.”
Margaret swayed as though he had struck her.
“So that’s it? You’re choosing her?”
“I’m choosing my wife and my child.”
“Wonderful,” Margaret hissed. She snatched up her purse and marched toward the entryway. “When she throws you out, don’t come crying to me!”
“If you learn to respect other people’s boundaries,” Emily said quietly, “you’ll always be welcome here. If you don’t, then goodbye.”
The door slammed shut. Afterward, the apartment seemed almost unnaturally still.
“Wasn’t that a little harsh?” Daniel asked, wrapping his arms around Emily. “She only…”
“She was claiming territory,” Emily said, leaning into him. “Slowly, carefully, piece by piece. Give it another year, and she’ll be telling us how to feed our child. Two years, and she’ll be deciding what school they go to.”
“And if she never comes back?”
“She will,” Emily said. “Once she understands the rules.”
A month later, Margaret called. Her voice sounded different—quieter, more careful.
“Could I… come by?” she asked. “Just to see how you’re doing.”
“Of course,” Emily replied. “Would tomorrow afternoon work?”
“And… may I bring something for the baby?”
“You may. But I’ll decide what stays.”
“I understand.”
The next day, Margaret arrived with a small stuffed toy and a bouquet of flowers. She took off her shoes without being asked and paused at the hallway.
“May I go into the nursery?”
Emily nodded.
Margaret stepped inside and looked around at the warm yellow walls.
“You repainted it.”
“Yes,” Emily said. “In our color.”
After a short silence, Margaret said, “It’s nice. Cozy.”
They drank tea afterward, and the conversation was sparse. Still, for the first time in three years, the air in the apartment felt calm.
As she was leaving, Margaret hesitated by the door.
“Could I come sometimes?” she asked. “After the little one is born?”
“Of course,” Emily said. “When we invite you.”
“When you invite me,” Margaret repeated, and nodded.
Emily closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. The baby kicked hard—brightly, triumphantly.
She rested a hand on her belly and whispered, “We’re home now, sweetheart. A real home. One where your mother knows how to protect what matters.”
In the yellow nursery, the curtain with the little bunnies stirred softly—the very one they had bought on the day they learned you were coming.