After returning home from the hospital with my newborn, I found a note on the table and thought it was a kind message from my mother-in-law. Instead, it stated she was charging us $600 for caring for our dog during my labor. My husband promised to discuss it with her, but I had a better idea. A few days before I went into labor, I was lying on the sofa, trying to cope with the persistent ache in my lower back that kept intensifying. My golden retriever, Rich, laid his head on my lap, watching me with his big brown eyes as if he understood something was wrong. I stroked behind his ears, thankful for his calm presence.
“Jake!” I called my husband, voice strained as another wave of pain washed over me. Jake was in the kitchen, stacking slices of turkey and cheese onto a sandwich, his eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, babe?” he responded, not looking up. I sighed. “We need to figure out what to do about Rich while we’re at the hospital. Can we ask your mom to help?” Our scheduled induction was set for the next day since the baby was a week overdue, and I was ready for this to end.
Jake approached, sandwich in hand, and quickly kissed my forehead. “Don’t worry, Doris. Mom loves Rich. She’ll take care of him.”That was Jake. He shrugged off almost everything easily. His optimism was one of the reasons I loved him, though sometimes it annoyed me. Maybe it was just hormones and how uncomfortable I felt. “Alright,” I said, leaning into the cushions. “Just tell her it’s only for a couple of days.” That evening, Jake called Abigail, his mother, and explained everything. She agreed without hesitation. When he hung up, he grinned. “She said she’s happy to help. Problem solved.”
That had to be enough for me. We packed our hospital bags that night, and the next morning, we said goodbye to Rich. At the door, I knelt to scratch his fluffy head. “Be a good boy for Grandma, okay?” He wagged his tail as if he understood. “Don’t worry about a thing,” Abigail waved us off with a smile. “I just wish I could be at the hospital.” That was an issue. We asked family not to visit or come to the hospital with us. My pregnancy had been tough enough, and I wanted only my husband there during labor. If anything went wrong, I didn’t want anyone else present either. Abigail said she understood, but maybe she was a little annoyed about it. “Mom, you know what we want,” Jake said, smiling to soften his words. “I know, I know,” she replied. “You modern kids! Now, go have my grandchild.” “Thank you, Abigail,” I said, and we left the house. I never expected to be induced. My water broke right as we entered the hospital… Honestly, women need to talk more about labor because this was terrible. I spent hours gripping the bed rails, feeling like they were the only thing keeping me grounded. Between contractions and the endless poking from nurses, I thought I might lose my mind.
Jake stayed by my side, holding my hand and trying to keep me calm, though he looked like he was about to pass out himself.
But the pain and exhaustion vanished when they placed my son in my arms. He was tiny, wrinkled, and perfect.
Jake and I cried uncontrollably. We couldn’t believe we had brought this little person into the world. For three days, the hospital was our happy place.
When we were finally allowed to leave, I felt relief. We carefully carried our baby through the hospital doors toward the parking lot.
Jake called Abigail to tell her we had been discharged, and she said she would give us a few days to settle in before visiting. That was very kind.
As we reached our driveway, I thought about relaxing on the couch and introducing Rich to his new little brother. It sounded perfect—except it wasn’t.
The first thing I saw when we entered the kitchen was a folded piece of paper on the table. My heart skipped a beat, thinking Abigail had left a sweet “Welcome Home” note.
I gently shifted the baby in my arms and unfolded the paper, already imagining a kind message.
Instead, it read:
“You owe me $600 for feeding and walking Rich. My time costs money. You have my bank details.”
For a moment, I stared, thinking I must be reading it wrong. But no, it was real. My mother-in-law was demanding cash for watching our dog.
I wasn’t against paying for such services, but she was family and never mentioned charging us before.
“Jake,” I called sharply. He was in the living room, putting down the car seat. “Come see this.”
He entered, saw the note, and sighed. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” I said, waving the paper. “Your mom’s asking for money for taking care of Rich while I was giving birth.”
Jake ran his hand through his hair, already looking defeated. “I’ll talk to her,” he said quietly.
“No,” I interrupted. “I’ll handle it.” My mind was already working on a plan that didn’t involve just paying her quietly.
A few days later, Abigail visited us. She came in with a big smile, kissed Jake’s cheek, and gushed over my son like a proud grandmother.
“Oh, he’s adorable,” she cooed, holding him. “He looks like Jake.”
For a moment, I thought she was just here to see her grandson. But when she handed the baby back, her true intent showed.
“So,” she said, brushing her hands off. “When can I get my money? I’ve waited long enough.”
I looked at her, holding my baby close. My smile stayed steady. “Of course, Abigail. I’ll pay you—if you agree to one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What condition?”
I went to the computer table we kept nearby and opened a folder I had prepared earlier. I’d spent days reviewing every favor Jake and I had done for her.
Every service, every dollar we spent on her (excluding gifts), was written down in detail.
“Well,” I said, opening it, “since you’re billing us, I think we should do the same.”
I placed the folder on the table and slid it toward her. She leaned in, suspicious. “What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s an itemized bill,” I explained, keeping my tone even. “Like professionals do.”
Her face went pale as she looked over what I’d written.
“Let’s see,” I said, tapping on the paper. “Helping you move last year? That’ll be $800—less than movers, so a family discount. Paying for your car repair when your transmission broke? That’s $1,200. And the babysitting I did for your neighbor’s children at your request? About $600.”
She opened her mouth and closed it, stunned. “This is outrageous! You can’t charge me for family favors!”
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “Exactly. Family supports each other without expecting payment. That’s what I believed.”
She tried to protest, but her words jumbled out. “But… but I had to change my schedule to take care of Rich!”
“And I changed my plans to have your grandchild,” I shot back. “So, if we’re talking fairness, I think we’re even.”
Her face turned bright red. She stood there, speechless. Then, she spun around and stormed out, slamming the door so loudly the baby fussed.
Jake, who’d been quiet from the kitchen, approached and shook his head with a small smile. “No one should mess with my wife,” he said, hugging me and kissing my cheek.
I laughed as we moved apart. “You got that right,” I said, settling on the couch with the baby.
Rich trotted over and placed his head on my lap. I stroked him while looking at the tiny bundle.
At that moment, I felt at peace. Abigail might not have learned her lesson, but she wouldn’t bother us about the $600 again. And if she did, I still had the folder.
Let her try me.
