Chapter 2: Welcome to Maple Heights—And Trouble

Looking back… Three days after the wedding, I went with my wife, Emily, back to her parents’ house in Maple Heights for the traditional visit.

The drive out to Maple Heights was quiet, the kind of silence loaded with things we didn’t say. The town looked the same as always—neat lawns, faded porch swings, the scent of fresh-cut grass in the air. Emily kept glancing at me, her fingers twisting the strap of her purse. We both knew this wasn’t just a casual drop-in.

We lugged in bags and gifts. The living room was packed with her relatives—Aunt Debbie, Cousin Mark, Uncle Ray, and even her Grandpa Lou.

The room buzzed with chatter, everyone perched on mismatched couches and folding chairs. Aunt Debbie was already passing around a tray of cookies, and Grandpa Lou was holding court in the recliner, cane propped against his knee. It felt like a family reunion, not just a visit. I couldn’t help but wonder—was there a hidden agenda behind all these smiling faces?

I was a little surprised and whispered to Emily, “Why are there so many people here?”

I leaned in, keeping my voice low, hoping not to draw attention. Emily just squeezed my hand, her eyes sparkling with a secret she wasn’t quite ready to share. My nerves tightened—was I about to get ambushed?

She gave me a mysterious smile. “There’s good news. You’ll find out soon.”

Her tone was light, almost playful, but something about the way she said it made me uneasy. I tried to smile back, but it felt stiff. Surprises and I don’t mix—especially with a crowd watching.

Just as we finished greeting everyone and sat down, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Hayes, cleared her throat. “Ryan, I have a surprise for you.”

She waited until the room had quieted, drawing every eye. The anticipation was thick enough to cut. I sat up a little straighter, bracing for whatever was coming.

I waited.

She paused, savoring the moment, as if she were about to announce she’d won a sweepstakes. I tried to read her face, but all I saw was self-satisfaction. My gut twisted.

She lifted her chin, pride and a hint of smugness in her eyes. “I’m pregnant!”

My heart did a double-take. The words hung in the air, echoing in the sudden hush. For a second, I thought I’d misheard. Pregnant? At her age? I blinked, trying to process, but all I could muster was a stunned, “Oh.”

Wait, what? Pregnant? That’s the surprise? No joy—just shock.

I glanced around, hoping someone else would react, but everyone just beamed back at me. It felt like I’d walked into the wrong sitcom.

“At my age, getting pregnant isn’t easy. I’m doing this for you.”

She said it with a straight face, like she’d just handed me a winning lottery ticket. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my mind was racing. For me? I definitely didn’t remember asking for this.

I glanced at my father-in-law, worried her words might spark some misunderstanding.

He just nodded, arms folded, as if this was all perfectly logical. Was I the only one who thought this was bizarre?

“You and Emily are both only children. The burden of caring for your parents in the future will be heavy. If I have another child, when he grows up, he can help share the load.”

She delivered the line with the gravity of a political speech, like she was solving the country’s retirement crisis. I almost laughed out loud—almost. The logic was so twisted it was almost impressive.

If it weren’t for the occasion, I’d have busted out a stand-up routine right then and there. Just say what you mean—no need for all the dramatic sighs.

I pictured myself on stage, mic in hand: “So my mother-in-law gets pregnant to help with my retirement plan. Top that, folks!” Instead, I just nodded, pretending to be touched.

I forced an awkward but polite smile.

It was the kind of smile you give when someone hands you a fruitcake for Christmas. The corners of my mouth twitched, desperate not to betray my real thoughts.

Everyone else chimed in, “Ryan, you really have it good. You married such a beautiful and sweet wife, and your in-laws are always thinking of you. So many people would kill for your luck.”

Aunt Debbie elbowed me, grinning. “Better count your blessings, honey. Not every son-in-law gets this kind of VIP treatment!”

“That’s right, it’s tough for her to be pregnant at her age. As the son-in-law, you should take extra care and buy more vitamins.”

Uncle Ray piped up, “Gotta keep the ladies healthy! Maybe get some of those fancy vitamins from Whole Foods.”

“I’ve heard when someone has a baby late in life, you bring a generous gift for good luck.”

Cousin Mark chimed in, “Yeah, my buddy’s mom swears by that—says it’s good luck for the whole family.”

“Yes, that’s the tradition. Gold’s best—people say it brings luck.”

Grandpa Lou nodded sagely. “Nothing like a little bling to welcome a new baby.”

…

The conversation went from what gold jewelry to buy to how many ounces. The more I listened, the more speechless I felt. Wasn’t this just a roundabout way of asking me for money?

Underneath, I was fuming.

Just as I was getting restless and debating whether to slip away to the bathroom, my father-in-law—who’d been silent—spoke up.

He cleared his throat, cutting through the chatter. Everyone turned to him, expecting some words of wisdom. I braced myself for the next demand, stifling a sigh.

“Ryan, Emily’s mom is pregnant now, so she shouldn’t overexert herself. Emily says you’re a good cook, so you’ll handle lunch today. The groceries are already bought. I don’t eat spicy food—don’t forget. We’re out of cigarettes and bourbon too, so pick some up later. And get some fruit for Emily’s mom—she loves cantaloupe and cherries…”

He rattled off the list like he was ordering takeout. I tried to keep track, but my head was spinning. I forced a smile, already dreading the hours ahead in the kitchen.

Once I stepped outside, the forced smile dropped from my face.

Finally. I let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping. The cool air hit me, and for a second, I just stood there, staring at the sky. I needed a minute to clear my head, to remind myself this was supposed to be a happy time.

No matter how I looked at it, something felt off. Sure, having a baby is their choice, but they’re both over fifty, and the family isn’t exactly wealthy. Raising a child these days is so expensive.

I thought about the cost of diapers, daycare, college tuition—the numbers stacked up in my mind like a bad credit card bill. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the burden would land squarely on my shoulders sooner or later.

It was like someone had quietly signed me up for a second mortgage. I felt a knot in my stomach, anxiety gnawing at me. Was this really what I’d signed up for when I said “I do”?

And why wait until after our wedding to say anything? I had a bad feeling…

I replayed the last few months in my head, wondering if I’d missed the signs. The secrecy, the timing—it all felt calculated. I tried to shake it off, but the doubt lingered.

I heard footsteps behind me—thump-thump-thump—and turned to see Emily catching up.

She was a little out of breath, hair falling loose from her ponytail. She smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but I could see the worry in her eyes.

She looped her arm through mine with a bright smile. “Babe, I’ll go with you. There’s too much to carry—I don’t want you getting tired.”

She always knew how to make me feel better, even when I didn’t want to. Her words were soft, and for a moment, the tension eased. I squeezed her hand, grateful for the small comfort. Even in the chaos, she still looked out for me.

Her concern soothed some of my irritation.

I let myself relax, just a little. Maybe this was just a rough patch, and things would get better. I wanted to believe that.

“How far along is your mom? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I asked casually.

I tried to sound nonchalant, but my curiosity got the better of me. Emily hesitated, glancing away before answering.

“Just over three months. I wanted to tell you, but Mom said you were busy with the wedding, and the pregnancy wasn’t stable yet, so it wasn’t a good time.”

She bit her lip, as if worried I’d be upset. I nodded, trying to keep my tone even.

“So, are you happy?”

I watched her face, searching for any sign of how she really felt. She looked up at me, eyes wide and earnest.

Seeing her innocent expression, I forced a laugh.

I didn’t want to dampen her spirits, but inside, I felt lost. This wasn’t how I pictured our first months of marriage.

It’s not my kid—what’s there to be happy about?

The thought echoed in my mind, sharper than I wanted to admit. I swallowed it down, not wanting to start a fight.

I did the cooking, with Emily helping, and after a few hours, finally put together a feast.

The kitchen was a blur of sizzling pans and chopping boards. Emily tried to keep things light, humming along to the radio, sneaking bites of food when she thought I wasn’t looking. By the time we finished, my shirt was soaked and my feet ached, but at least the spread looked impressive.

Funny, I’d never busted my butt like this for my own folks. But now, as a son-in-law, I was learning to curry favor with the in-laws.

I caught myself wishing my own folks could see me now—sweating over a stove, trying to win points with people who barely seemed to notice. I guess marriage really does change you.

But when it was time to eat, there was a problem—too many people, not enough seats.

I scanned the room, hoping someone would offer to squeeze in, but no one budged. The table was packed, elbows jostling for space.

“Ryan, Emily, there’s not enough room at the table. Take some food and eat in the kitchen,” my father-in-law said, like it was nothing.

His tone was casual, but it stung. I looked at Emily, hoping she’d protest, but she just stood there, clutching her bowl. I felt my face flush with anger.

I was furious. Today was our post-wedding visit—shouldn’t I at least count as half a guest?

What am I, the help?

I clenched my fists, biting back a retort. I didn’t want to make a scene, but I couldn’t believe how easily they dismissed us.

Emily saw I wasn’t moving and realized I was upset. She quickly said, “I’ll eat in the kitchen. Ryan, you sit at the table with everyone.”

She gave me a quick, reassuring look, then hurried off, trying to smooth things over. I could see she hated the situation as much as I did.

She scooped some food into her bowl and went to the kitchen.

Her shoulders were tense, but she kept her head high. I felt a surge of protectiveness—no way was I letting her eat alone.

No way was I going to let my wife eat alone in a corner. I piled a bowl high with the best dishes and followed her.

I loaded up her bowl with all her favorites, ignoring the looks from the others. Let them judge. I wasn’t about to leave her by herself.

Seeing the food I brought, Emily lit up and slid in beside me.

She grinned, eyes lighting up as she dug in. For a moment, it felt like we were back in our college apartment, sharing takeout on the floor.

“Babe, your cooking is amazing.”

She said it with her mouth full, making me laugh. I felt some of the tension melt away.

“Wow, this is so good. I’m going to get fat if you keep this up.”

She winked, nudging me playfully. I knew she was trying to lift my spirits, and it worked, at least a little.

She was clearly laying it on thick to cheer me up.

I smiled, grateful for her effort. It was the little things that made the difference.

“Did you used to eat in the kitchen a lot?” I asked, putting the last ribs in her bowl.

I tried to sound casual, but I was genuinely curious. She hesitated, then nodded.

“Yeah.”

Her voice was quiet, almost shy. I could tell this wasn’t a happy memory.

“By yourself?”

She looked down, fiddling with her fork. “With my mom. My grandma didn’t like us, so…”

Her words trailed off, but I caught the sadness in her eyes. I felt a pang of sympathy, wishing I could change the past for her.

“But after my grandma passed, it didn’t happen much.” She tried to sound casual, but her voice wobbled.

She shrugged, forcing a smile. I reached over and squeezed her hand. At least we had each other. That had to count for something.

I remembered the first time I met her parents—her dad, a few drinks in, earnestly told me to take good care of her. When he talked about her childhood, he even teared up.

He’d clapped me on the back, eyes shining with pride and worry. “She’s my little girl,” he’d said, voice thick with emotion. I’d promised to do right by her, not knowing just how much that would mean.

Back then, I thought she’d grown up loved and spoiled. Turns out…

I’d pictured a storybook childhood, but reality was messier. It made me want to shield her even more.