It was the morning Jennifer went back to work, and somehow, our kitchen had turned into a battlefield.
My mom stood by the counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp like a judge ready to hand out a sentence.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” she said, scrubbing at a spotless countertop for the third time. “The baby needs his mother.”
Jennifer didn’t back down. She stood straight, chin high, clutching her coffee cup like a shield.
“I’m not abandoning him, Mary-Anne. I’m going back to my career. There’s a difference.”
I stepped in between them, holding baby Wyatt against my chest like a peace offering.
“Mom, we’ve talked about this. Jen’s job pays more, and I’ve switched to part-time remote. We’re doing what works for our family.”
Mom’s lips twisted.
“Funny,” she said, picking up her coffee, “it looks like you’re playing house and calling it progress.”
The sound of her spoon clinking against the mug was sharp and final, like a gavel hitting wood.
Jennifer’s knuckles went white on her purse strap. “You raised your son, Mary-Anne,” she said softly but firmly, “now let us raise ours.”
She turned toward the door, and I followed, Wyatt still on my hip.
Before leaving, she took Wyatt from my arms and pressed a kiss to his tiny head. The strong, determined woman melted for just a moment.
“Promise me you’ll send videos of everything?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
I smiled. “Everything.”
She nodded, then looked at me with that ache only a mother could understand.
“I’m going to miss so much, aren’t I?”
I squeezed her hand. “You’re doing what’s right. He’s going to be proud of you one day.”
Her eyes flicked to Mom one last time before she stepped outside. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the house oddly quiet.
A few weeks later, it happened.
I was sitting on the rug, watching Wyatt on his tummy, when suddenly—he flipped over. Just like that.
My heart leapt. “Wyatt! You did it, buddy!” I grabbed my phone, fumbling to record. I got maybe two seconds of blurry chaos before he stopped moving.
“Come on, show Daddy again,” I laughed, but he just stared at me like, Nice try, old man.
I looked at the shaky, useless video. Jennifer had begged for videos of his milestones, but this one? It barely showed anything.
Then I had a thought—a terrible, brilliant thought.
What if I could make her feel like she was there?
That evening, when Jennifer came home, I set the stage. Wyatt on the rug. Tummy time. Camera ready.
“Watch this,” I said casually.
Right on cue, Wyatt rolled over again.
Jennifer gasped, hands flying to her face. “Oh my God, his first roll!”
I looked her in the eye and lied. “Yeah. His first time.”
She burst into tears and scooped Wyatt up. “Clever boy! I can’t believe I got to see that!”
I hugged them both, trying to ignore the twist of guilt in my gut.
From the armchair, Mom didn’t even look up from her crochet.
“Isn’t the timing just perfect?” she said dryly. “You’re barely home, and yet Wyatt rolls over right when you walk in. Almost like it was rehearsed.”
I changed the subject fast.
But that one lie turned into a habit.
When Wyatt started crawling, I turned it into another performance.
I laid Cheerios across the floor like a trail, got down beside him, and coaxed him forward while Jennifer was still at work. Then, that evening, I set it all up again.
He crawled straight to her when she walked in. She squealed, “His first crawl!”
Mom shook her head. “Is this what modern masculinity looks like?”
I looked up—and froze. She was recording us.
“Mom! Delete that!” I rushed over.
She frowned. “I’m going to send this to Jennifer. She deserves the truth.”
“Please, Mom,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m not doing this to lie. I’m doing it so she feels included.”
She stared at me for a long time, then sighed and deleted the video.
“But this is the last time, Luke. I won’t lie for you anymore. If Jen wants to see Wyatt’s milestones, she should be here, not live them through you.”
I nodded, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t done.
Weeks later, Wyatt took his first steps—while Jennifer was away on a business trip.
I couldn’t help myself. I begged Mom, “One last time, please. It would mean so much to her.”
Mom glared. “A pity she wasn’t here like a proper mother should be. Maybe then she wouldn’t need a husband who turns their baby into a performer.”
She stormed off, so I waited until she left for errands. Then I got to work.
To make Wyatt’s steps look less practiced, I stuffed a few beanbags in his onesie to make him wobble.
That evening, Jennifer came home. I set Wyatt on his feet, held out a toy, and… he stumbled forward.
“He walked!” she screamed, tears flooding her eyes. “His first steps!”
We laughed and hugged, recording it all.
But when Mom came home and saw the video, her eyes darkened.
“Don’t you find it strange,” she said to Jennifer, “that you’re always home for these so-called firsts?”
Jennifer frowned. “What are you implying?”
I quickly stepped in. “Mom, enough.”
But the doubt was planted.
The final straw came weeks later, on a sunny morning.
Jennifer was getting ready for work, and I held Wyatt on my lap.
“Say bye-bye to Mommy,” I said.
He waved his little hand and said, clear as a bell, “Bye-bye.”
Jennifer froze. Her jaw dropped. “Did you hear that? His first good-bye!”
I smiled weakly. “Yeah… his first good-bye.”
She hugged him tight, whispering, “I can’t believe I was here for it!”
I didn’t know that moment would destroy everything.
That afternoon, Jennifer came home early, still glowing. She found Mom in the kitchen.
“Wyatt said his first good-bye today!” Jennifer beamed.
Mom looked at her calmly. “Oh really? That’s funny. I took a video yesterday—him saying ‘bye-bye’ to the ducks at the park. Want to see?”
She handed Jennifer her phone.
Jennifer laughed at first, then hit play. Wyatt’s little voice echoed: “Bye-bye!”
Her laughter died. Her eyes flicked up to me, confusion spreading like fire.
“Luke,” she whispered, “this was yesterday.”
Mom folded her arms. “Jennifer, he’s been staging Wyatt’s milestones for months. Since the day he rolled over.”
Jennifer’s face crumpled. She turned away from me and walked down the hall. I followed, begging, “Jen, please, let me explain—”
But she locked herself in the bathroom.
I could hear her sobs through the door. Each one landed like a punch to my chest.
I turned on Mom, my voice breaking. “Why did you do that? You wanted her to find out, didn’t you?”
Mom shrugged. “I didn’t lie. You did. Maybe now you’ll stop playing director with your child’s life.”
When Jennifer finally came out, she sat beside me on the couch. She didn’t yell. She didn’t even look angry—just… tired.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” she whispered. “Going back to work, giving Wyatt a good life. But I was terrified he’d forget me.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You knew that. You tried to give me the moments I missed. That was stupid… and sweet… and completely idiotic.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“I know.” She took my hand. “But we have to stop chasing perfect, Luke. I’ll miss things. That’s life. No more fake firsts, okay?”
I nodded. “No more fake firsts.”
She gave me a small smile. “And no more guilt trips from your mom about me working?”
I glanced toward the kitchen, where Mom was pretending not to listen. “I’ll handle it.”
Jennifer squeezed my hand. “She was right to tell me, though,” she said softly. “I hate that it happened like this, but… better the truth than a family built on lies.”
We sat together as the afternoon light spilled across the floor, watching Wyatt babble in his bouncer, happy and unaware.
The air was quiet again—but this time, it didn’t feel like a courtroom. It felt like a fragile beginning.