Easter dinner arrived in a ridiculous parade of waste. There was steak that no one finished and fancy vegetables that Matthew pushed around like they had offended him. There were two bottles of expensive wine, three desserts, and grease-stained bags all over my counters.
After dinner, I stood at the sink rinsing plates while my son cried in his crib. Becca leaned back in her chair, surveyed the disaster, and then looked at me.
“Guests don’t do dishes, honey,” she said lightly. “It’s bad luck.”
“Anything for family.”
Thomas went still across the room.
I dried my hands and turned.
“You’re right,” I said. “Thomas will take over.”
Becca smiled, pleased with herself.
That was the moment she decided she’d won.
Two days later, I drove them to the airport. Thomas wanted to come with me, but Spencer had been up most of the night with gas, crying in short, angry bursts that left all of us wrecked by morning.
“Are you sure, Tals?” Thomas asked at the front door, Spencer against his shoulder. “I don’t think you should be driving yet.”
Thomas went still across the room.
“I’m sure,” I said, picking up my keys. “You stay with our baby. I need to run to the pharmacy after too.”
He studied my face. “Talia.”
“I’m fine.”
That made him snort softly. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I almost smiled. ‘Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to believe me. Just trust me.’
He hesitated, then nodded. “Call me if she starts anything.”
I looked back at him. “Babe, she already did.”
‘You’re a terrible liar.’
The drive to the airport was quiet.
Becca sat in the passenger seat, checking her reflection in her phone camera. Matthew was in the back with Jessie while Liam and Jonah argued over a tablet.
As I pulled up to departures, Becca sighed and said, “Well. Despite your little mood, this turned out to be a lovely Easter.”
Matthew didn’t even look up. “Becca,” he warned.
“What?” She turned to me with the same bright, smug smile she’d worn all weekend. “We were great guests, weren’t we?”
The drive to the airport was quiet.
I got out, opened the trunk, and handed her Jessie’s pink backpack.
“Of course,” I said. “And your surprise is already waiting for you.”
Her forehead creased. “What surprise?”
“You’ll see.”
They made it halfway to the airline desk before the first crack showed.
I followed behind and watched it unfold.
‘What surprise?’
I watched Becca’s body go stiff as the agent said something. A second employee walked over and handed Matthew a slim envelope.
He frowned. “What’s this?”
Becca reached for it. “Nothing. Give it here.”
He pulled it back and opened it anyway. His expression changed immediately.
He stared at his wife. “Did you use Talia’s card for the flight too?”
Liam tugged his sleeve. “Dad? Is Aunt Talia coming with us? She’s there.”
Becca turned so fast she nearly dropped her bag. “Talia?”
“Nothing. Give it here.”
I walked toward them, one step at a time.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“I protected my son’s money,” I said.
The airline agent cleared her throat. “Ma’am, the payment method used for these upgrades was reported as unauthorized. The first-class seats have been voided, and the booking is under review. If you still wish to travel today, you’ll need to purchase new seats with a valid card.”
Matthew stared at his wife like he didn’t know her. “You used her card while she was home bleeding from surgery?”
‘What did you do?’
Becca’s face went hot. “I said I was going to pay it back.”
I held her gaze. “You kept calling yourself a guest. Guests don’t steal.”
Jessie started crying. Jonah grabbed the suitcase handle. Liam just stood there, blinking like the floor had shifted under him.
Becca fumbled for her phone with shaking fingers. “Mom,” she whispered when Deborah answered. “I need money. Right now.”
I turned and walked away.
‘You kept calling yourself a guest. Guests don’t steal.’
My phone rang as I turned into my driveway.
Deborah, of course.
I answered, and Deborah went straight to screaming. I let her finish.
“She used my card,” I said. “For a stupidly fancy dinner that they wasted and for first-class tickets home, while I’m trying to recover from my C-section and look after your grandson.”
Silence.
Then came her soft voice. “You could’ve handled this privately.”
Deborah went straight to screaming.
“Maybe,” I said. “But private is how Becca gets away with things. Thomas and I are done with this.”
I hung up.
A week later, the money was back, Spencer’s new crib was assembled, and the stroller stood by the door.
For the first time since I had my son, my home felt quiet, safe, and mine again.
“Thomas and I are done with this.”
