Chapter 1: The Front Seat War

All I did was sit up front next to my son, and suddenly his girlfriend lost her mind.

Honestly, I never thought something as simple as where I sat in the car would set off such a mess. It’s not like I was making some kind of point—I just wanted to be comfortable. But the look Hailey shot me could’ve curdled milk, and the tension was so thick you could feel it pressing on your skin.

She snapped, "Mrs. Miller, can't you respect some boundaries?"

She practically spat it out, like she’d been waiting for the chance. Her tone was sharp, brittle—the kind you use when you’re itching for an argument. My cheeks burned—not from shame, but from sheer disbelief.

"The front passenger seat is for the girlfriend—everyone knows that, right? Or... do you have some weird thing for your own son?"

She didn’t even try to keep her voice down. I swear, if we’d been at a stoplight, the people in the next car would’ve heard her. Unbelievable. I stared at the dashboard, counting the seconds until I could get out and breathe.

"Even if you're his mom, you should know how this looks."

I just forwarded the chat to my son. Let him handle it.

I figured, let Tyler deal with this. He’s always said he’s a grown man now—well, time to step up. I scrolled through our messages, attached the screenshots, and hit send. For a moment, I let myself hope he’d see how ridiculous she was being.

To my surprise, my son replied:

"Mom, since Hailey already told you, just listen to her from now on. Please don't sit in my front seat anymore. Don't make things harder for me."

That one landed hard. I’d half expected him to stand up for me, to laugh it off, but instead, he just... folded. He just took the easy way out. I guess that’s easier when you’re young and in love, but still, it stung.

Fine. Alright then.

Fine. If we need to avoid suspicion, let's avoid it completely.

I won't sit in the front seat anymore. And honestly? I don't want this son anymore either.

Ever since I found out my son had a girlfriend, I started looking for a home for his future. I spent months touring properties before finally finding one I loved: a 3,200-square-foot condo with a breathtaking view. To the south, you could see the endless Atlantic; to the north, the city lights of Savannah sparkled at night.

It was the kind of place you see in glossy magazines—floor-to-ceiling windows, a kitchen that begged for Sunday brunches, and a balcony just made for late-night talks. I could picture Tyler and his future family there. Living the life I’d worked so hard to give him.

The price was reasonable, too. With my savings, I could pay for it outright, so my son and his future wife wouldn’t have to worry about a mortgage.

I told the agent, "Alright, let's go with this one. I'll call my son right now. Have him come sign the contract."

My plan? Put my son's name on the contract first. After he got married, I'd add his wife's name, too. Since the place was paid in full, adding a name later wouldn't be an issue.

It seemed fair—give them a fresh start, no debt, just love and possibilities. I imagined Tyler’s face lighting up when he saw it. Maybe even a hug. I guess I’m a sucker for those Hallmark moments.

But just as I was about to call my son, I got a message from his girlfriend. Of course.

"Mrs. Miller, can't you respect some boundaries?"

I was stunned. The timing was unreal. I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, and suddenly she’s in my messages again, throwing accusations out of nowhere.

She came out of nowhere with this, and honestly, I had no idea what she meant.

I thought, I haven't bothered her. Not once.

The last time I spoke with her was two months ago, on New Year's Day. She added me on Facebook to wish me a happy new year, and I sent her a $1,500 Amazon gift card. She thanked me, all polite.

That’s how I was raised—be generous, especially to the people your child cares about. I figured a gift card was a nice gesture, a little welcome into the family. Guess I was wrong. Ha.

So why was she acting like this now?

I replied, trying to keep it civil:

"What's wrong, Hailey? Is there some misunderstanding?"

No need to start a war over a text. But my patience was wearing thin.

Hailey sent me an eye-roll emoji. Then shot back:

"The front passenger seat is for the girlfriend—everyone knows that, right? Or... do you have some weird thing for your own son?"

Front passenger seat?

I remembered I did sit in my son's front seat a couple days ago. I wasn't feeling well and had him take me to the hospital. I get carsick, so of course I sat up front.

It was just a normal thing. Never thought Hailey would blow up over it.