I didn't know exactly how long it would take before my mother came.
I only knew that I wanted answers.
Sarah had left the room again.
Mark had gone back to the cafeteria.
Sadie was sleeping.
I sat quietly, thinking about what I would say.
I didn't want to shout.
I didn't want to argue.
I wanted to ask two simple questions.
Why had my mother been discussing our house with Harper?
And why had someone been asking hospital employees about Sadie's discharge?
I repeated the questions in my head.
They sounded reasonable.
They sounded almost too reasonable.
Because I knew my mother.
I knew she could turn an ordinary question into an accusation.
She could make me feel guilty for asking something that should never have needed explaining.
Still, I had to ask.
I checked the clock.
A few minutes passed.
Then I heard hurried footsteps approaching.
They were coming from the direction of Harper's room.
I looked toward the door.
A moment later, my mother appeared.
Finally.
After spending nearly the entire day with my sister, she had come to see me.
But she didn't look happy.
She didn't carry flowers.
She wasn't holding a gift bag.
She didn't even glance toward the bassinet.
Her eyes went straight to my face.
"Clara, what have you been telling the people at the nurses' station?"
I stared at her.
For a moment, I couldn't believe that was how she had chosen to begin.
Not hello.
Not congratulations.
Not how are you feeling?
Not even a question about her granddaughter.
She wanted to know what I had told the hospital staff.
I looked at her carefully.
"Why are you asking?"
She stepped farther into the room.
"I've been hearing that you've made some kind of special request."
I glanced at Mark's empty chair.
He wasn't back yet.
"Yes. I made a request."
Her expression tightened.
"About your daughter's discharge?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I asked her to come closer.
She remained standing.
I could see the impatience in her face.
It was the same expression she used when she believed I was making something unnecessarily difficult.
I took a breath.
"Mom, I want to ask you something."
She folded her arms.
"Go ahead."
"Why were you talking to Harper about moving into our house?"
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
For a second, she seemed unsure what to say.
Then she glanced toward the door.
"Who told you that?"
I felt my jaw tighten.
That wasn't an answer.
"Why were you discussing it?"
She shifted her weight.
"Clara, this isn't the time."
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I had spent nine hours waiting for her to find the time to visit me.
Now that she was finally standing in my room, she was telling me it wasn't the right moment to discuss something she had apparently been arranging behind my back.
I looked down at Sadie.
Then back at my mother.
"Mom, you had plenty of time to discuss our house with Harper."
She frowned.
"You're misunderstanding what was said."
"Then explain it."
She pressed her lips together.
I waited.
She didn't speak.
So I asked the second question.
"Why was someone asking the maternity staff about transportation for Sadie?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?"
I held her gaze.
"Someone came to the nurses' station asking questions about my daughter's discharge arrangements."
My mother looked toward the hallway again.
Then she looked at me.
"Who told you about that?"
I felt a cold kind of anger settle inside me.
She had asked the same question twice.
Not once had she asked whether Sadie was all right.
Not once had she asked why I was concerned.
She wanted to know who had told me.
I looked at her.
"That's not what I'm asking."
She took a small step closer.
"Clara, you need to be careful about what you say."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because people can misunderstand things."
I nodded slowly.
"Then help me understand."
She looked irritated.
I had seen that expression many times before.
It usually meant she wanted the conversation to end.
But I wasn't finished.
I had spent most of my life letting her decide when a discussion was over.
I wasn't doing that now.
Mark returned while we were standing there.
He opened the door and stopped when he saw my mother.
His eyes moved from her to me.
Then he quietly closed the door.
He didn't interrupt.
He simply walked over and took my hand.
My mother noticed.
She looked at him with open displeasure.
I squeezed Mark's fingers.
Then I looked back at her.
"Mark and I decide what happens in our home. We decide who comes into it. We decide who is allowed to make arrangements for our daughter."
My mother opened her mouth.
I continued.
"Nobody else gets to make those decisions for us."
She looked at Mark.
Then back at me.
"Clara, you're making this sound much worse than it is."
"Then tell me what it is."
She didn't.
The silence became uncomfortable.
I could hear the faint sound of someone talking outside.
A cart rolled past.
My mother remained standing beside the bed.
Her eyes moved toward Sadie's bassinet for the first time.
But even then, she didn't approach it.
I wondered whether she had noticed how small Sadie was.
Whether she had seen her dark hair.
Whether she had even looked at the photograph I sent earlier.
I wanted to ask.
But I didn't.
I already knew that would take us away from the questions that mattered.
My mother finally spoke.
"Your sister is depending on you."
I looked at her.
The words were so familiar that I almost felt like I had returned to another year.
Harper needed something.
Harper was struggling.
Harper was counting on me.
I had heard every version of that sentence.
But this time, I wanted to know what it meant.
I kept my voice steady.
"Depending on me for what?"
My mother glanced at Mark.
He straightened in his chair.
She looked back at me.
Then she said something I hadn't expected.
"We thought you'd understand once everything was already arranged."
I felt my fingers go cold.
Already arranged.
I looked at Mark.
He was staring at her.
Neither of us spoke.
I turned back toward my mother.
"Once what was arranged?"
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Mother’s Explanation Made It Clear That the Nine Hours in Harper’s Room Had Been About Far More Than Celebrating a New Baby
I Thought Becoming a Mother Would Finally Make My Family See Me Differently, But That Thursday Changed Everything
Part 6 of 8
