When I first met Avery, my husband Scott’s best friend, I actually liked her. She was sharp, lively, and easy to get along with. Because she was a nutritionist and Scott worked as a food safety auditor, they clicked instantly through their careers, and soon she was part of our circle. We even went to concerts together and had group dinners. I never could have guessed she would eventually test every ounce of my patience.
The shift began after we shared our pregnancy news. Scott and I were thrilled, and our families couldn’t have been happier. Avery was one of the first to congratulate us—she texted Scott, “You’re both going to make amazing parents!” At first, it felt like a warm, thoughtful gesture. But soon, things changed.
Suddenly, Scott’s phone buzzed constantly with Avery’s “expert” advice. Every day she was sending lists: foods I should cut out, supplements I supposedly needed, organic products she insisted were essential. At first, I brushed it off—lots of people get carried away when a baby’s on the way. But Avery wasn’t just excited; she was overstepping.
One night, Scott handed me his phone, irritation written on his face. “She says we need to dump all the coffee, switch to organic soap, and…” He trailed off, clearly exhausted by it.
I shook my head. “Scott, she’s acting like this is her pregnancy. We need boundaries.”
We tried ignoring her, but Avery wasn’t the type to back down. If I posted a meal on social media, she would text Scott: ‘Jean shouldn’t eat that—it’s low in folic acid.’ It stopped feeling like advice and started feeling like surveillance.
By the time my mom and sister began planning my baby shower, I was already drained by her behavior. So when Avery messaged me directly—“I’d love to host your shower! I have so many creative ideas!”—I politely declined. “Thanks, Avery, but my mom and sister are already organizing it,” I replied.
I figured that was the end of it. I was wrong.
The very next day, Avery turned up at my door, arms full of boxes, a binder under her arm, and the energy of someone who thought she was running the show. She barged into my dining room, unloading pastel decorations, eco-friendly favors, and streamers.
“I already ordered the perfect gluten-free, sugar-free cake,” she declared. “And I put together a playlist of soothing music. It’s going to be magical.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Avery, I told you—my mom and sister are planning the shower.”
She waved me off like a child. “Jean, trust me. I know what’s best for you and the baby.”
That was it. She needed a wake-up call. But instead of blowing up at her right then, I decided to play it smarter. I nodded, pretending to go along while quietly finalizing the real plans with my mom and sister at a cozy café across town.
On the day of the shower, Avery was busy at my house, decorating like her life depended on it. Through our home security cameras, I watched her proudly hang streamers, arrange centerpieces, and display her special gluten-free cake—all for an empty room.
Meanwhile, I was at the café surrounded by friends and family, enjoying laughter, heartfelt toasts, gifts, and warmth. My mom and sister had created the perfect shower: intimate, loving, and exactly what I wanted.
At one point, I had a group photo printed, slipped it into a box with a single cupcake, and had it delivered straight to my house. On the cameras, I watched Avery open it, pulling out the picture of us smiling together. She unfolded the note I’d tucked in: “We know you’re enjoying your dietary options—just wanted to share.”
Her face went red with anger. She called me immediately, but I let it go unanswered.
That evening, she stormed over, livid. “How could you humiliate me like that? I worked so hard on that shower!”
I met her glare calmly. “Avery, this was never yours to plan. You crossed a line. This wasn’t about you—it was about celebrating our baby.”
Her eyes flicked to Scott, hurt. “You told her about my messages?”
“Of course I did,” Scott said firmly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Avery’s face crumpled. “I just… I thought if I handled everything, if Scott followed my advice, maybe…” She faltered, tears welling up. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Scott. I hoped one day you’d see me differently.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Finally, Scott spoke. His tone was steady, but final. “Avery, you’ve always been just a friend. That’s all. My heart belongs to Jean—it always has, and it always will.”
She cried harder, pleading, but he shook his head. “If you can’t respect our marriage, then you can’t be in our lives.”
And with that, she left.
That night, Scott held me close. “You and the baby are my everything,” he whispered. For the first time in months, I felt at peace.
A few months later, I delivered our healthy baby, and Avery was no longer part of our lives. Looking back, the ordeal had tested us, but it had also strengthened us. We had drawn boundaries, defended our family, and reminded ourselves what truly mattered.
As I cradled our newborn in my arms, I knew one thing for certain: no matter what storms came our way, Scott and I would face them side by side—with love, with unity, and without interference.