Chapter 2: Lines Drawn in Maple Heights

The room went dead quiet. Even the baby, gurgling in his high chair, seemed to sense something was off.

“You two can hire a nanny. I’m done.”

My voice was calm, but inside I was shaking so hard I thought I might come apart. I grabbed my purse and headed for the guest room, determined not to let them see me cry.

Ethan stayed cool as ever, unmoved. But Savannah’s expression changed in an instant. She rushed after me, her face falling.

She practically hauled me down the hallway, whispering urgently so Ethan wouldn’t overhear.

“Mom, you can’t leave! If you go, who’s going to help me take care of the baby?”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, she looked just like the little girl who used to cling to my leg on the first day of kindergarten.

“Like I said, you can hire a nanny.”

I tried to keep my tone gentle, but I could see the panic in her eyes, like she was barely holding it together.

“I can’t afford it, Mom!” Savannah’s voice rose with frustration, nearly shouting.

She looked so desperate, her hands balled into tight fists. I felt a pang of guilt, but I stayed firm.

How could that be? I just didn’t buy it. Ethan brings in $10,000 a month, Savannah makes $3,000. Can’t afford a nanny? Who would believe that?

I did the math in my head, thinking of all the times I’d stretched a dollar for groceries and Christmas gifts. Something just didn’t add up.

I figured she was just saying that to keep me from leaving.

I remembered all the times she’d begged for an extra hour of TV as a kid, always finding some excuse. Some things never change.

I’d had enough. I turned to go. Savannah grabbed my arm.

She gripped my arm, surprisingly strong for someone so slender.

“Ethan can afford it, but I can’t!”

I really didn’t get it. What did she mean, Ethan can afford it but she can’t? Aren’t they supposed to be a team?

My brow furrowed. Back in my day, married couples shared everything—even the last piece of cherry pie.

Seeing my confusion, Savannah hesitated a long time before finally spilling everything.

She chewed her lip, glancing at the closed door, and finally started to explain in a hushed voice, her words tumbling out.

Turns out, she and Ethan split everything fifty-fifty—each paying half for all expenses.

She pulled out her phone and showed me a color-coded spreadsheet, meticulously updated. It felt less like a marriage and more like a business partnership gone corporate.

The mortgage alone is nearly $2,500 a month, and Savannah pays half. Food, daily expenses, baby costs—she’s paying about $1,200 a month. Out of her $3,000 salary, she’s left with just $300. If she hired a nanny, she’d have nothing left.

I did the math again, my chest tightening. My daughter was living paycheck to paycheck, right under the same roof as her husband who made three times as much.

And suddenly, it all clicked. No wonder Ethan was so calm when I threatened to leave—he could afford it, so he didn’t care. But Savannah couldn’t, so she panicked.

The realization hit me hard. Ethan’s indifference wasn’t just cold—it was calculated. Savannah’s pleas weren’t manipulation—they were desperation.

So this was why she’d begged me to come help with the baby.

I remembered her late-night call months ago, her voice shaking as she asked me to come. I’d thought it was just nerves about being a new mom, not this.

More than three months ago, when she was about to give birth, she called me up. She said she didn’t get along with her mother-in-law and didn’t want her around. She wasn’t comfortable hiring a nanny—afraid she’d get a bad one who might mistreat the baby. So she begged me to come.

Her voice on the phone had been so small, so vulnerable. I could almost see her curled up on her bed, hand on her swollen belly, eyes red from crying.