On Mother’s Day, something happened that I never expected—my mother-in-law, Cheryl, handed me the check for a $367 dinner and called it my “gift” to the real moms at the table. I smiled, paid my part—and then I gave her the surprise of a lifetime.
I never thought I’d be the person airing family drama on the internet, but here we are. I’m 35 years old, married to Ryan for almost 10 years, and we’ve been through more fertility treatments, heartbreaking miscarriages, and painful phone calls than I can even count. It’s hard to talk about it. It still hurts, so I keep it to myself most of the time.
Being a mom is the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything in this life. And yet, it just hasn’t happened for me.
This past Sunday was Mother’s Day. Cheryl, my MIL, decided to host a “ladies-only dinner”—just her, my sister-in-law Amanda, my other sister-in-law Holly, and me. Ryan told me I should go. “Just smile and get through it,” he said. “You know how she is.”
And oh, I knew. I knew exactly how she was.
Looking back, I should’ve trusted my gut and stayed home.
Let me explain. Cheryl is the queen of our family. Think pearls, casserole dishes, and that smile—passive-aggressive, the kind that makes you feel like a bug under a glass. She’s all about “tradition,” and her favorite tradition is reminding everyone that motherhood is the most important thing a woman can do. She’s the type to say, “A woman’s greatest legacy is her children,” and she means it—every time.
She has three kids. Amanda, her golden child, has two boys. Amanda’s always posting about them. Derek, the youngest, married Holly. They just had their second daughter a few months ago.
And then there’s me. The one who hasn’t “fulfilled her purpose,” as Cheryl once said over Thanksgiving dinner. She was laughing when she said it, but it stuck in my chest like a splinter I couldn’t remove.
Mother’s Day has always been a nightmare. I always find some excuse to get out of it. Last year, I lied and said I was having brunch with friends. The year before, I had “a cold.” Ryan always runs interference, and everyone pretends not to notice. But this year, Cheryl got clever.
“No husbands,” she said. “Just us girls. A special night.”
Ryan pushed me to go.
“She means well,” he said.
“She really doesn’t,” I said back.
Still, I went.
When I walked into the restaurant, I immediately knew something was off.
Cheryl was wearing her good pearls and that smug smile. Amanda was already there, giggling about how her youngest had smeared peanut butter on her wall that morning. Holly walked in just after me, bouncing with a giant diaper bag, already showing baby photos on her phone.
“Happy Mother’s Day, my darlings!” Cheryl beamed as she handed gift bags to Amanda and Holly.
She turned to me.
“Good of you to make it, dear.”
She patted my arm. That was it. No bag. No “Happy Mother’s Day.” Just that stiff little pat, like I was the neighbor’s awkward niece tagging along.
I forced a smile. “Thanks for the invite.”
We sat down, and Cheryl ordered a bottle of prosecco “for the mothers.” She poured three glasses. I got water. She didn’t ask what I wanted.
Amanda leaned over to me. “You wouldn’t believe what Brayden did this morning,” she said.
“Oh no,” Holly laughed. “What now?”
“He flushed my earrings down the toilet. The nice ones! From Jared!” Amanda said, sounding almost like she was proud of it.
They both burst into laughter.
I tried to chuckle along, but I couldn’t think of anything to add.
Cheryl jumped in. “Boys will be boys. Mine once shoved a Hot Wheels car up his nose. Remember that, Amanda?”
“Oh God, yes!” Amanda said, her voice high with amusement. “Ryan cried so hard. You had to take him to urgent care!”
Everyone laughed again. I just sat there, holding my water glass, wishing I could disappear.
“That sounds wild,” I said. “Kids do the strangest things.”
Holly gave me a polite look. “Do you babysit much?” she asked.
“No,” I said, my throat tight. “Not lately.”
Cheryl leaned over. “Well, hopefully someday soon, dear.”
I nodded, my voice caught in my throat, and I said nothing.
The waiter brought dessert: three chocolate lava cakes and a plain fruit bowl, which he set down in front of Cheryl.
“For you, ma’am,” he said.
Cheryl gave a polite nod. “Too rich for my digestion,” she said, as if none of us knew that by now. “But the rest of you enjoy.”
Amanda dove into her cake right away, moaning with pleasure. “Oh my God, this is amazing.”
Holly grinned, already halfway through hers. “Worth every calorie.”
I just smiled and pushed a slice of strawberry around my plate. It smelled sweet, overwhelming even, but I had no appetite.
Then Cheryl tapped her spoon against her water glass with a few sharp clinks, the kind that makes everyone freeze. She stood up and said, “Ladies, before we all part ways tonight, I have a little something to share.”
Amanda perked up immediately. “Oh! Is it about the cabin next month?”
Cheryl waved her hand. “No, no. This is more… practical.”
Her eyes turned to me, and I knew whatever was coming next wasn’t going to be good.
“Kaylee, dear,” she began, her tone sweet but insincere, “you’re the only one at this table who isn’t a mother.”
The entire table went silent.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” she continued, “but it doesn’t seem fair to split the bill evenly.”
Amanda dropped her gaze to her lap. Holly reached for her wineglass, not saying a word.
Cheryl, completely calm, continued, “So we thought—since you’re not really celebrating anything—maybe you’d be kind enough to treat us this year.”
Then she slid the check across the table to me like she was doing me a favor.
I opened it. The total was $367.
I stared at it. Three lobster tails. Three glasses of prosecco. Three desserts. I had grilled chicken and water. My throat tightened, but I swallowed it down and forced a smile.
“Of course,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be. “You’re right.”
Cheryl nodded, like she had just settled some reasonable debate. Amanda didn’t look up from her lap. Holly kept sipping her wine, her eyes avoiding mine.
I let the silence linger before I spoke again. “Actually,” I said, setting the check aside, “I’ve got something to share too.”
All three women turned to me. Amanda looked surprised, Holly curious, Cheryl wearing that same patronizing expression she always had when she thought I was being dramatic.
I took a breath, steadying myself. “Ryan and I have decided to stop trying,” I said, letting the words land one by one.
Amanda blinked. Holly’s hand paused halfway to her mouth. Cheryl opened her mouth, ready to give her usual response.
“Well,” she said quickly, “that’s probably for the best, dear. Some women just—”
“We’re adopting,” I interrupted, cutting her off.
The room went still. Amanda’s eyes widened. Holly stopped chewing, mid-bite. Cheryl didn’t speak.
“We got the call this morning,” I continued, letting each word land. “We’ve been matched. A baby girl. She’s being born tomorrow. In Denver.”
I felt my voice wobble, but I held it together.
“The birth mother saw our profile. She said we felt like home. Her words.”
Still no one spoke.
I looked right at Cheryl. “So, technically,” I said, “this is my first Mother’s Day.”
The silence stretched on.
I reached into my purse, pulled out a 20 and a 5, and gently placed them on the table.
“Here’s $25,” I said. “That more than covers what I had.”
I turned to Cheryl. “I’m not paying for the rest. Being childless doesn’t make me your wallet. Or your punchline.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Amanda looked stunned. Holly remained quiet, watching me.
I stood up, grabbed my coat, and looked around the table one last time.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” I said, and walked out.
The next morning, we flew to Denver.
When the nurse placed Maya in my arms, something inside me cracked open. She was tiny, pink, and warm against my chest. She yawned once, then curled her little fist around my finger like she had always belonged there.
Her name means “illusion.” We didn’t choose it—her birth mother did—but it felt right. Because for years, I chased the illusion that motherhood had to come one certain way. Through biology. Through pain. Through Cheryl’s idea of what makes a “real” mom.
Now, holding Maya, all that noise fell away.
Cheryl didn’t call me after dinner. Instead, she called Ryan, leaving him three voicemails. She said I’d embarrassed her, that I’d “made a scene” on her holiday.
Ryan finally called her back. I heard the conversation from the hallway.
“You embarrassed yourself,” he said. “Kaylee doesn’t owe you anything.”
She hasn’t called since. And that’s fine.
Because now, for the first time in a decade, I don’t feel like I’m missing something. I don’t feel like the outsider anymore. I’m not playing along with anyone’s script.
I’m Maya’s mom. And that’s all I ever wanted to be.
