I’m Lauren, 35, married to Michael for ten years, and our dream of parenthood has been a silent battle through fertility struggles and heartaches I keep to myself. Motherhood is my deepest longing, but it hasn’t arrived. This Mother’s Day, my mother-in-law, Susan, planned a “women’s dinner” with her, her daughter Katie, Katie’s partner, Rachel, and me. Michael pushed me to go, saying, “Just smile and bear it.” Susan’s all about family, often saying, “A woman’s kids are her treasure.” Her jabs, like “You’re not quite a mom” at a holiday party, hurt, especially since Katie has twins and Rachel just had a son.
I avoid Mother’s Day, faking plans—a weekend getaway, a sore throat. But Susan’s “girls’ night” felt inescapable. At the restaurant, she glowed in her pearl earrings, handing Katie and Rachel gift bags. I got a “Nice you’re here” and a quick touch. I drank water while they shared wine, cheering “moms who shine.” Katie laughed about her twins’ finger-painting chaos, and Rachel showed baby videos. I tried, “Kids are so lively,” but Susan said, “You’ll understand soon.” I nodded, feeling out of place, my heart sinking. They ate shrimp and risotto; I had a turkey sandwich.
Dessert came—three chocolate mousses for them, an apple for Susan, who “can’t do sugar.” Then Susan tapped her glass, smiling at me. “Lauren, as the only non-mom, you should treat us. It’s your gift to real mothers.” The $367 bill appeared—seafood, wine, desserts. My sandwich? Under $20. I smiled, said, “Okay,” but paused. “I have something to say,” I announced. “Michael and I are adopting. We’re matched with a baby girl, born tomorrow in Chicago.” Katie’s eyes widened, Rachel froze, and Susan’s wineglass stilled.
“The birth mom picked us,” I said. “She felt our warmth.” I faced Susan. “This is my first Mother’s Day.” I set $25 down. “This covers me. I’m not paying for your party.” Susan was quiet, Katie fidgeted, and Rachel watched. I stood, said, “Happy Mother’s Day,” and walked out. In Chicago, holding our daughter, Lily, melted years of pain. Her name, meaning purity, felt right. Susan called Michael, upset I “disrupted” her day. He said, “You dismissed her.” She’s silent now, but Lily’s tiny hand in mine is my truth—I’m her mom, free from old scripts, whole at last.
