I believed I could rely on my mother-in-law to watch over my son while my husband and I enjoyed our honeymoon. Yet, just four days into our trip, a frantic call from my little boy sent me hurtling back home.
I had Liam when I was only eighteen, with his father gone even before his birth. It was just the two of us, and I juggled every job I could find—waitressing, cleaning houses, even stocking shelves on overnight shifts at a grocery store—just to keep a roof over our heads. There were nights I returned home utterly spent, but the moment Liam wrapped his tiny arms around me, every hardship faded away.
Then, a few years later, I met Ethan.
He was different from anyone I’d known. He listened without judgment and never saw my being a single mom as a drawback. Instead, he embraced Liam as a gift—offering small presents, spending hours building Legos with him, and even learning how to make dinosaur-shaped pancakes on Saturday mornings.
I allowed myself to believe it was safe to trust again.
Last year, Ethan and I got married, and he planned a week-long honeymoon in the Bahamas. Although I was anxious about leaving Liam behind, Ethan reassured me with a gentle squeeze of my hand and a smile, saying, “Mom will take care of him. She adores Liam. You trust me, don’t you?” I hesitated for a moment since Angela, Ethan’s mother, seemed kind enough—if a bit old-fashioned—but eventually I agreed, saying, “Yeah, I trust you.”
So, I packed my bags, kissed Liam goodbye, and left. But four days in, my phone rang—it was Angela’s number. Expecting a cheerful update, I answered with a smile. Instead, I heard a small, trembling, terrified voice.
“Mom, don’t do this to me!” whispered Liam.
My heart froze. “Liam? Baby, what’s wrong?” I cried, sitting up so abruptly that the hotel sheets tangled around my legs.
“Mrs. Kim said you’re going to give me up for adoption if I don’t listen and watch cartoons,” he explained, his voice barely audible.
My stomach churned. “What? Who told you that?”
“Grandma… and Mrs. Kim,” he sniffled. “They said I should get used to not having a mom soon.”
I gripped the phone until my fingers ached. “That’s not true. I would never—never—leave you. Do you hear me?”
After a shaky hiccup, he asked, “Then why did they say it?”
Anger and disbelief flooded me. “Put Grandma on the phone,” I demanded through clenched teeth. Soon enough, Angela’s light, breezy voice came through as if nothing were amiss. “Oh! Hello, dear. Everything’s fine. Liam’s just being sensitive.”
“Sensitive?” I stuttered, my hands shaking. “You told my son I was giving him up?”
Angela sighed. “He wasn’t really listening. Kids these days need a little motivation. I thought—” Before she could finish, I hung up, tossed off the blankets, and grabbed my suitcase.
Ethan stirred beside me. “What’s going on?”
“We’re leaving,” I declared, opening a drawer with force.
He looked confused. “Wait—what do you mean?”
I spun to face him. “Your mother told my son that I was giving him away—that if he didn’t behave, I wouldn’t be his mom anymore.”
Ethan’s face turned ashen. “She—she wouldn’t—”
“She did,” I snapped. “I just heard my baby crying. Do you really think I imagined it?”
He scrambled out of bed. “I—I’ll call her. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding—”
“Do whatever you want,” I interrupted. “I’m going home.”
We booked the earliest flight possible, and on the drive to the airport my heart pounded with one thought—get to Liam. I barely remembered the drive; I clutched the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles hurt, all the while determined to reach my son.
When we pulled up to Angela’s house, I leaped out of the car and stormed to the door without even knocking. I flung it open so hard it slammed against the wall. Inside, Angela was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea. She jumped in surprise, set her cup down as if nothing was wrong, and began, “Oh! You’re back early—”
“WHERE IS LIAM?” I demanded.
She raised her eyebrows, oddly unruffled, almost amused. “He’s upstairs taking a nap. He was a bit difficult at first, but don’t worry—I taught him how to behave.”
I didn’t wait for more. I dashed upstairs, my heart thundering in my ears. Bursting into Liam’s room without knocking, I found him curled up in a corner of the bed, knees pulled to his chest, clutching his stuffed bunny as if it were his sole source of comfort. His small body trembled, and his face was buried in his pillow.
“Liam,” I breathed.
His tear-streaked red eyes shot up. “Mom!”
He leapt off the bed into my arms, clinging to me so tightly that I could feel his little heart pounding against mine. “I didn’t mean to be bad!” he sobbed. “Please don’t leave me!”
Tears blurred my vision as I rocked him gently, kissing his damp hair. Then I turned to face Angela standing in the doorway, my entire body burning with rage. “Explain,” I said, voice quivering. “Now.”
With a dramatic sigh and arms folded, she replied, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop acting like I beat him.”
I tightened my hold on Liam, whose fingers still clutched my shirt as if fearing I’d vanish. “You told my son I was giving him up,” I accused in a low, shaking voice. “You made him believe I didn’t want him. You let him cry himself to sleep, thinking he was being abandoned.”
Angela waved a dismissive hand. “A little fear never hurts. It teaches kids respect. If they don’t learn early, they’ll grow up weak.”
My stomach twisted as I struggled to keep my voice steady. “You can’t scare children into obedience. You’re supposed to love and protect them.”
She scoffed, “That’s not how I was raised, and look how I turned out.”
For the first time, I truly saw her—cold, unfeeling, utterly convinced she was right, unaware of the harm she’d inflicted. Then I heard footsteps.
It was Ethan. His face was pale and his hands were clenched as he looked from his mother to Liam, who was still trembling in my arms. His body stiffened. “Mom…” he said in a strained tone, “Tell me this isn’t true.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Oh, Ethan, don’t be so dramatic. This is just parenting. Kids need discipline, and if a little fear gets them in line, so be it.”
Ethan exhaled sharply, clearly hurt, and then, in an eerie calm, he said, “Alright, then don’t be surprised when we end up putting you in a nursing home someday. That’s just how we handle difficult parents.”
Silence followed. Angela’s face paled further. “Excuse me?”
Ethan didn’t flinch. “A bit of fear builds character, right? Maybe you should experience it too.” For the first time, Angela had nothing to say. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, uncertainty flashing across her face as if she finally realized she’d gone too far.
Ethan then turned to me. “Get Liam. We’re leaving.”
I didn’t hesitate. I carried Liam downstairs, still clinging to me, while Ethan followed silently and tensely. Angela trailed after us, her voice breaking as she pleaded, “Wait! Ethan, don’t do this. I didn’t mean—” But Ethan didn’t look back. We walked out the front door, leaving Angela alone in her spotless living room.
For weeks afterward, Angela called—leaving voicemails, sending messages, even appearing at our door, begging to see Liam. Ethan ignored her, and I blocked her number. Eventually, after tears, apologies, and promises she’d never repeat her actions, we allowed her back on one strict condition: she would never be alone with Liam again. She agreed, but nothing would ever be the same.
Liam changed, too. He refused to sleep by himself; even a few minutes apart from me would send him into a panic, running after me in tears. Every night, he needed my arms around him to feel safe. I blamed myself for trusting the wrong person and leaving my son with someone undeserving. Yet I vowed to him that no one would ever hurt him again—and I meant every word.
Years later, as I tucked Liam into bed one night, he wrapped his little arms around me and whispered, “You never left me. You kept your promise.” And that, in itself, was enough.