My mother-in-law looked at my 38-week pregnant belly, told my husband,

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere my son is safe.”

“We have nowhere to go.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

“How strange,” I said. “Neither did I when you locked me in.”

Linda snapped again.

“You’re ungrateful!”

I didn’t react.

“Do you want a list of what you’ve done for me?” I asked. “Start with calling me dramatic during labor. Or spending my money on margaritas.”