"Enough! Every mother-in-law helps her daughter-in-law with the grandkids this way. Why is it suddenly a problem when it's your mother?"

"If every mother-in-law does it, then why didn't you?"

I let out a scoff.

"Where were you when my mom was pregnant?"

"Weren't you the one who said your back was killing you and you couldn't possibly take care of anyone?"

"My mom was carrying my brother, carrying me, and still had to cook her own meals, do the laundry, mop the floors."

"How come you didn't call that 'perfectly normal' back then?"

Grandma's face cycled between white and green.

"I... my health really was bad back then."

"Bad enough to go play cards? Bad enough to put away three bowls of rice in one sitting? Bad enough to scream at my mom without stopping for a single breath? Bad enough to—"

Grandma choked on her own words, unable to get a syllable out.

My father finally snapped. He jabbed a finger at my face.

"Enough!"

"Who do you think you are? Your mother hasn't said a word, and here you are putting on a whole show, going after everyone in the room. Who gave you the nerve?"

The moment he finished, my mom took my hand. Her voice rang out, clear and unwavering.

"I did."

The room went dead silent.

Every pair of eyes landed on my mother.

For thirty years, she had always been the quietest person in any room. Silent when blamed. Silent when ignored. Silent when wronged.

But this time, she spoke up for herself.

My father couldn't stomach her defiance. It was a blow to his pride.

His face darkened, and he kicked a stool over in fury.

"Lauren Lawrence, say that again. Who gave that worthless girl the nerve to strut around like she owns the place?"

His eyes flooded red in an instant, like a cornered animal ready to bite.

But my mom lifted her chin and met his gaze without a flicker of fear.

She repeated it, word by word.

"I did."

"And one more thing."

She paused, then looked at me, her expression soft.

"Desiree is not worthless."

"She is the baby I carried for nine months and brought into this world. She is also the only person in this family who cares about me, who loves me, who has been good to me without ever asking for anything in return."

As she said this, her gaze swept calmly across my brother, my sister-in-law, and Grandma.

She didn't say a single accusatory word. But one by one, they looked away.

"Fine. Fine! If she's the only one who's good to you, then go ahead and leave with her. Don't ever come back. Let this fresh-out-of-college girl support you!"

"When she can't make enough money, when she can't put food on the table, when you're starving out there, don't you dare come crawling back. And don't even think about calling me for money!"

His eyes locked onto my mother as he said it.

He expected to see panic. Regret. The desperate backpedaling of a woman who'd gone too far.

He didn't get any of it. My mother didn't even blink.

My father faltered for a moment.

But he quickly decided she simply had no concept of money, and started counting on his fingers.

"Your daughter just graduated. She makes ten grand a month, tops."

"Rent is three thousand. Food is at least two thousand. She bought a car, so that's another two thousand a month on the loan. Utilities and transportation, another thousand."

"Whatever's left after that, and she's supposed to support you too? A housewife who's never earned a dime? You think that's enough?"

He finished with a cold laugh.

As if he could already see it: my mother, beaten down by the real world, slinking back to beg for his forgiveness.

Watching that smug certainty on his face, I laughed.

The sound cut through the room. My father frowned at me.

"What are you laughing at?"

There was no way I was going to tell him that I'd just received a five-million-dollar royalty check from my novel's copyright deal.

And that was only the first payment. There would be many more. Enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life.

"I'm laughing because you're so sure of yourself. You think Mom will come crawling back. But what if she doesn't? What if it's you begging her to come home?"

"Impossible."

My dad didn't even hesitate.

"Your mother isn't that important. She's just a housewife. It's not like we can't live without her."

"Then let's make a bet."

He scoffed. "A bet on what?"

I found a pen and paper, then spoke slowly and deliberately.

"We bet that within three months, Mom won't come back. And she'll be doing better than ever."

"If she does come back, we'll apologize, and we'll even—"

"An apology isn't enough."

Grandma cut in.

"If you two come crawling back, you hand over half your paycheck to your brother and his wife every month. Help them with their mortgage."

"Fine by me."

I didn't argue. I wrote it down.

"But if Mom doesn't come back within three months, and one of you goes begging her to return, then you divorce Mom. Clean break. No harassment."

My dad didn't seem to think losing was even a possibility. He reached for the pen immediately.

But my brother grabbed it first.

"Dad, if she's betting that big, three months isn't enough. That's too short. They could easily tough it out for three months."

"We want it changed to six months."

"If you and Mom can hold out for six months, then you win. Same rules apply to us."

The extra three months didn't bother me.

If anything, it worked in my favor.

"Deal."

As my dad signed, I adjusted the action camera clipped to my chest.

Everything that had happened today was on tape.

If any of them tried to go back on their word, I'd drop the footage in the family group chat, blast it on social media, and let the whole world watch them humiliate themselves.

The agreement was signed. Two copies.

We took ours and turned to leave. That's when my dad called out to my mom.

"Lauren, I'm giving you one last chance. Apologize, and we'll void the bet. I'll act like none of this ever happened."

Mom didn't turn around. She just tossed one line over her shoulder.

"No need. Because the only one who's going to lose is you."