Mother’s Day has always been painful for me. After years of fertility treatments, miscarriages, and heartbreak, I still wasn’t a mom. It’s the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything — and yet, every year, I’m reminded of what I don’t have. This year, my mother-in-law Cheryl invited me to a “ladies-only” Mother’s Day dinner. Just her, my sisters-in-law — both moms — and me. My husband, Ryan, encouraged me to go. “Just get through it,” he said. “You know how she is.” I knew exactly how she was. From the moment I arrived, I could feel it. Cheryl wore her good pearls and a smile that always means trouble. She handed gift bags to my sisters-in-law, toasted “the real mothers,”
and barely acknowledged me. I wasn’t given a glass of prosecco, or a “Happy Mother’s Day.” Just water, and a pat on the arm. Then came dessert. Three rich chocolate cakes — and one plain fruit bowl set in front of Cheryl, who can’t eat sweets. Everyone laughed, swapped baby stories, and talked about diaper blowouts and preschool crafts. I smiled politely and stayed quiet. And then it happened. Cheryl tapped her spoon on her glass and stood up. “Kaylee, dear,”