The table went quiet.
My husband laughed again, like it was nothing. “Mom, relax. I’m just kidding.”
But she didn’t laugh. She looked straight at him and said, “No, you’re not. That’s not funny, and you know it.”
Everyone at the table stopped eating. I could feel my face burning, and I still couldn’t believe what he had just said about me.
She continued, “I remember when you two found out about the pregnancy. She was terrified. She cried for days because she thought the implant failed and she didn’t know what to do. You were the one who said you’d figure it out together.”
My husband shifted in his chair.
“And now,” she said calmly, “you’re sitting here acting like she tricked you? That’s not fair to her.”
No one said a word. Even his dad looked uncomfortable.
My husband tried to brush it off again. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
But the damage was already done. Everyone had heard it. Everyone knew.
For the rest of the dinner, the mood was awkward and quiet. I barely spoke, and he avoided looking at me.
