Chapter 5 - The Closing Walls
By May, my belly was undeniably round, heavy, and full of life. My nursing coworkers, sensing that my family was bizarrely absent from the usual milestones, decided to take matters into their own hands. They organized a surprise baby shower for me in the hospital breakroom, complete with pastel cupcakes, a diaper cake, and a mountain of tiny, adorable onesies.
To include my family, I had invited about twenty-five female relatives from Mom’s side of the family—aunts, cousins, and close family friends. I addressed the invitations by hand, paying for postage and hoping that maybe, away from Mom’s direct sphere of influence, they would want to celebrate with me.
Saturday afternoon arrived. The breakroom was decorated with streamers and balloons. The food was laid out.
Not a single relative from Mom’s side showed up.
Out of twenty-five invitations, only three people even bothered to send a text declining; the rest simply ignored it entirely. When I called one of my favorite aunts to ask if she had gotten lost, her voice on the other end of the line sounded strained, awkward, and profoundly uncomfortable.
“Oh, honey… I have a church retreat today with your mother,” she stammered, before hastily making an excuse about a boiling pot on the stove and hanging up.
That night, I lay on our living room floor with my head resting in Theo’s lap, tears soaking into the fabric of his jeans as I tried desperately not to sob out loud. Theo stroked my red hair, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek.
“Something is profoundly wrong with your family,” Theo said, his voice flat and heavy with anger.
“It’s Mom,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “It has always been Mom. I just… I don't know why she hates me this much.”
I didn't know how else to explain the empty chairs, the ignored invitations, the suffocating wall of silence that surrounded every milestone of my pregnancy. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life, walking among people who looked right through me as if I weren't even there.
And then, the final trap was sprung.
In early June, Mom called to discuss the logistics of Belle’s upcoming gender reveal party. She was pulling out all the stops: a massive catered tent in their backyard, a custom-designed three-tier cake, professional photography, and an elaborate confetti cannon ordered all the way from a specialty party site.
Before I could even open my mouth to ask what I could bring to help set up, Mom dropped the hammer.
“Now, Josephine, I need to talk to you about the party,” she said, her tone dripping with manufactured sweetness. “Belle has requested that you stay home.”
I froze, the phone slipping slightly against my ear. “Stay home? What do you mean? Why would Belle want me to stay home?”
“Well,” Mom sighed, injecting a heavy dose of martyr-like exhaustion into her voice. “Your belly is getting quite large, and you know how people are. It would attract far too much attention, and Belle has been through so much. She just wants one single day where the focus is entirely on her and her baby, without any awkwardness or distraction.”
The audacity of the statement took my breath away. “Belle is my sister,” I managed to choke out. “She wants me there. We talk every single day.”
“She wants peace of mind, Josephine,” Mom corrected coldly. “Do not make this about yourself. Just stay home, send your gift with your father, and let your sister have her moment.”
Before I could reply, she clicked the end button. The dial tone buzzed in my ear like an angry hornet.
May you like
I walked slowly into the nursery, the afternoon sunlight filtering through the sage-green curtains. I stood in front of the white-oak crib Theo had built with his own hands, running my fingers over the little bird he had carved into the headboard. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and silent, dripping onto the wooden rail.
I had tried so hard to be the good daughter. I had swallowed every insult, accepted every exclusion, and hidden my own joy just to keep the peace. And yet, I was being banished from my own sister’s celebration under the guise of protecting her—a lie manufactured entirely in the dark machinery of my mother’s mind.
