After my maternity leave ended, my mother-in-law proposed we split childcare 50/50. But she was only covering the man's share. Out of 24 hours a day, she would take the day shift, and I would take the night shift. She made lunch, I made dinner, and we took turns with breakfast. To keep things "fair," she strictly forbade my husband from helping me. Later, my daughter spiked a terrible fever in the middle of the night. My mother-in-law physically blocked my husband from grabbing his car keys. "You're not going!" she snapped. "I already covered your shift today. The night shift is her responsibility." I had no choice but to order an Uber to the hospital. I never expected the exhausted driver to crash on the way there. My baby girl and I were trapped in the wreckage and burned alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very last day of my maternity leave. "Chloe, sweetie, I need to talk to you about something." My mother-in-law Brenda’s voice rang in my ears. I opened my eyes and saw her fake, sugary-sweet smile. Without waiting for my answer, she just kept talking: "You young people are all about going 50/50 these days. "Talking about money ruins relationships, so we won't talk about money. "We’re just going to talk about how we split taking care of the baby." Before I could get a word in, she continued, "Here's what I'm thinking. "Out of 24 hours, I take the day, you take the night. "We set the hours, so nobody gets taken advantage of. "You leave for work at 7 AM, so I'll watch her from 7 AM to 7 PM. "From 7 PM to 7 AM the next morning, she's all yours. "I'll cook lunch, you cook dinner, and we alternate breakfast. "How does that sound?" Her words were exactly the same as I remembered. At first glance, it almost sounded fair. But in my past life, Brenda genuinely believed she was stepping in to cover her son Mark's half of the parenting. "I already did Mark's share," she would say. "He doesn't help me during the day either. "So to keep it fair, he can't help you at night." From then on, Mark practically vanished when it came to chores and childcare. I worked from 8:30 AM to 5:30 PM. But the office was far, and my one-way commute took an hour and a half. Whether I had an early morning meeting or had to work late, Brenda didn't care. She would physically block the door in the morning so I couldn't leave a minute early. If I wasn't walking through the door right at 7 PM, she would blow up my phone with back-to-back calls. It made my managers despise me. My performance reviews tanked every month. If I hadn't still been pumping, I would have been fired immediately. Meanwhile, Mark didn't lift a finger. In the mornings, while Brenda was holding me hostage at the front door, he was snoring in bed like a pig. In the evenings, while I was rushing to cook dinner in the kitchen, my daughter Lily would sit on the floor, clinging to my leg and crying. Mark and Brenda would be out in the living room, watching TV and chatting. I could hear their laughter from the kitchen. But somehow, they were entirely deaf to Lily's screaming. One night, I just wanted to take a quick shower and asked Mark to watch Lily for five minutes. Brenda practically leaped off the couch. "You're cheating!" "How am I cheating, Brenda?" I asked, furious. "I even take Lily to the bathroom with me during the day." Brenda wiped away fake tears. "Well, nobody helps me during the day either!" "Mark isn't home during the day," I explained. "But he's home right now." "Doesn't matter. We agreed on 50/50, and nobody is breaking the rules," she said, crossing her arms. "Besides, Mark worked hard all day at his job. "I already covered his shift for him. "Stop trying to exploit him." Mark pretended he was too scared to help me, lounging on the couch and playing video games. Brenda even sat there feeding him little pieces of cut-up fruit. I had to wait until Lily finally fell asleep to rush into the shower. I never dared to shower for more than ten minutes. I was terrified she would choke in her sleep, roll off the bed, or wake up crying for me. After weeks of this, I was on the verge of a total breakdown. I tried reasoning with Mark. "Can I ask my mom to come stay with us and help?" "Where is your mom going to sleep?" he asked, clearly annoyed. We only had a two-bedroom apartment. I offered a solution: "My mom can share a room with your mom. "If she doesn't want that, I'll buy bunk beds. "Your mom can have the top or bottom, whatever she wants. My mom is fine with it." "Absolutely not!" Brenda suddenly burst into our bedroom. She had been eavesdropping at the door the entire time. I sighed. "Then maybe you should go back to your hometown, Brenda. "My mom can take over entirely. "She doesn't care about going 50/50, and she definitely won't overwork your precious son." "No way." Brenda's face hardened, her jowls shaking. "If I go back without my granddaughter, the whole church congregation will laugh at me." I was an only child, and both my parents were retired. When I got pregnant, they immediately offered to help raise the baby. But Brenda fought it tooth and nail: "Her paternal grandmother is still alive and well! "Why on earth would the maternal grandparents raise the child?" Mark and I weren't from this city. We met in college. After graduation, we found jobs, bought a house, and settled down here. Mark's father had passed away in a car accident a few years prior. Brenda used his life insurance payout to cover the down payment on our place. When we were buying it, my parents offered to split the cost. That way, our monthly mortgage would be much lower. But Brenda refused. "The man's family provides the house. "If word gets out that the bride's family paid for half, we'll be the laughingstock of our hometown." So, my family didn't contribute to the house. The deed only had Mark's name on it. It was legally considered his pre-marital asset. There was no diamond ring, no fancy wedding paid for by his family. Instead, my parents gave me their entire life savings as a nest egg. They told me to use it however I saw fit. Mark and I had been together since freshman year. Back then, he treated me better than anyone else. We were inseparable. He was attentive, caring, and sweet. He worked odd jobs during summer breaks just to buy me gifts and take me on road trips. He remembered every little thing I said. Once, I casually mentioned I wanted to see a beluga whale. The very first day the local aquarium opened, Mark took me. Those two tickets cost him his entire food budget for the month. When we got there, we found out the belugas hadn't arrived yet. Six months later, when they finally got them, he saved up and took me again. The whales were beautiful. Mark loved me. After six years together, I truly believed we were going to grow old together. So I didn't care about whose name was on the deed. I used a huge chunk of my parents' money to fully renovate and furnish our bare-bones house. I used the rest to buy a reliable commuter car. Because Mark's office wasn't near a bus route, I let him take the car. I squeezed onto the subway every single day. Because he only put down the bare minimum for the house, Mark's entire paycheck went strictly to the mortgage. Every single household expense fell on my shoulders. That was exactly why I couldn't afford to quit my job after having the baby. My parents lived several states away. Their pensions were modest, and they couldn't afford the high rent and cost of living in our city. My salary wasn't enough to hire a nanny, nor was it enough to rent my parents an apartment nearby. And since Brenda refused to let my mother stay with her, we were stuck. Under Brenda's protective wing, Mark rapidly regressed into a massive mama's boy. The man who was so wonderful before the wedding vanished entirely. When I was sobbing in the middle of the night from sheer exhaustion, his "comforting" words sounded exactly like Brenda's: "This is just what being a mom is like. Deal with it. "It gets easier when they're older. "Lily only wants you anyway, there's nothing I can do to help." Of course she didn't want him—he never held her! Sometimes she would even cry just looking at him. Afraid of worrying my parents, I kept my nightmare a secret from them. They would even send Brenda gift baskets and call her, saying, "Thank you for working so hard for our daughter." Brenda would immediately use the opportunity to play the martyr. "Oh, babies this small are just so difficult. "I'm all alone in the house during the day. "When she cries, I get so anxious I break out in a sweat. "I'm so busy I barely even have time to eat!" Then my mom would call me: "Your mother-in-law is working so hard taking care of the baby alone all day. "You need to be patient and treat her well." It wasn't just my parents. Brenda complained to anyone who would listen. The neighbors in our complex, her relatives back home—everyone thought she was a saint. They all thought I should be on my knees thanking her. I won't deny she kept Lily alive during the day. But her hygiene was appalling, and she point-blank refused to do a single household chore. She believed that watching the baby was her absolute limit. She never cleaned up the kitchen after using it all day. Pots, pans, and dishes were piled high in the sink, waiting for me to wash them at night. Forget about sweeping, mopping, doing laundry, or organizing. The floors would be coated in dust, and she'd act like she couldn't see it. When I mopped on the weekends, she complained I was blocking the TV. She never put Lily's dirty clothes in the wash. But the second I started a load of laundry, she would hit pause and sneak her own dirty clothes in. I even found the muddy shoes she wore outside tossed into Lily's toy bin. When I politely asked her to be more hygienic, she immediately went crying to Mark about how hard she worked and how ungrateful I was. Mark would tell me, "Chloe, my mom works hard enough during the day. "Older people just aren't as clean as you are. "She can't change her habits overnight. "Just let it go. You need to be more grateful." "Grateful for what?" I shot back. "Is she just my child? "Your mom works hard during the day. "Do you think I don't work hard going to the office all day, and then doing all the chores and taking care of the baby all night?" "You work hard too, honey," Mark would say, giving me a half-hearted hug. But it was all lip service. He never actually did anything. Before Brenda moved in, I cooked, and Mark washed the dishes. I washed the clothes, and Mark folded them. Objectively, Mark used to do his half of the chores. But once Brenda arrived, she couldn't bear to see her precious son lifting a finger. Whenever I asked him to do something, she shielded him with her 50/50 rule. "I already did Mark's half today! He doesn't have to do anything tonight." So I just had to grit my teeth and bear it alone. Months later, Lily spiked a terrifying fever in the middle of the night. Her little body felt like a furnace. I shook Mark awake. "Get up, Lily is burning up." Mark felt her forehead. "Pack a bag, we're going to the ER." I dressed Lily and grabbed the diaper bag. Mark threw on his clothes. "I'll go warm up the car." It was December. We parked in an outdoor lot. The windshield was entirely iced over and needed to be scraped. I put on my backpack and carried Lily toward the front door. Brenda heard the noise and came out of her room. "Where are you going at this hour?" "Lily has a fever, we're taking her to the hospital," I explained. Brenda peered into our bedroom and yelled, "Where's Mark?!" "He went down to warm up the car." "Wait for me," Brenda said, retreating to her room to grab her coat. I assumed she was coming with us to help. But when we got downstairs, Brenda reached into the ignition and yanked the keys out. "Mom, what are you doing?" Mark asked, confused. Brenda glared at us. "You're not going! "I already covered your shift. The night shift is hers." Holding Lily, I stared at her in total shock. "Brenda, the baby is sick!" Brenda gripped the keys tightly, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. "Kids get sick all the time. "When Mark was little, I carried him to the doctor all by myself." Mark got out of the car. "Mom, stop causing a scene." "A scene?!" Brenda screamed. "I'm doing this for you! "You have to work tomorrow! What about your health? "Besides, it's Chloe's turn to watch her. "You're not a doctor, going to the hospital won't do anything anyway. "She can take her by herself." Lily, already miserable from the fever, started shrieking from Brenda's yelling. I rocked her, begging, "Brenda, please just let Mark come with me. "I can't do this alone." "You're a mother now. You have to," Brenda sneered, grabbing Mark by the arm and dragging him toward the apartment building. Mark gave me an apologetic look but let himself be pulled inside. I had a spare car key in my bag. But Lily was thrashing and crying so hard she couldn't sit safely in her car seat alone. My only option was to call an Uber. It was a freezing December night. There were barely any cars out. The app just kept spinning, searching for a driver. I tried calling Mark, but his phone was turned off. Standing at the entrance of our complex, holding my burning child, I broke down and sobbed. I eventually offered a huge cash tip on the app, and a driver finally accepted. After another 15 minutes, we got in. But I never could have guessed the driver was exhausted from driving a double shift. He crashed on the highway. The car was crushed, and the EV battery caught fire. Lily and I were trapped in the backseat and burned alive. My mind snapped back to the present. I could still feel the phantom, agonizing pain of the flames on my skin. Brenda was still standing in front of me, running her mouth. I picked up my phone and checked the calendar. It really was the last day of my maternity leave. "I'm tired," I said, standing up and walking to my room. "You think about it! I'm doing you a favor! "You need to learn to be grateful!" Brenda yelled after me. I slammed the door, shutting her out. Lily was sleeping soundly in her crib, sweet and quiet. She looked like a little angel. But the sound of her agonizing screams from the fire still echoed in my head. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I leaned over, trembling, and picked her up. "It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's here. "We don't need Daddy anymore, okay?" That evening, Mark came home from work. At the dinner table, Brenda brought it up again. "Mark, I talked to Chloe today about splitting the parenting 50/50. "She didn't seem to like the idea."
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