“Why? How? She’s convinced you went begging to Dad’s boss. Or… worse.”
“Worse?” I laughed bitterly. “What could be worse in her mind than her pregnant daughter existing?”
“Laura, please just tell me what’s going on.”
I looked at Michael, who nodded.
“The baby’s father is Michael Hastings. We’ve been together six years. I’m staying with his family because mine threw me out.”
Silence.
“Michael Hastings? The boss’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Laura, do Mom and Dad know?”
“Nope. They didn’t ask. Too busy calling me a disgrace and telling me to sleep on the streets.”
“They’re going to lose it when they find out.”
Rebecca was right. The meltdown, when it came, was spectacular. I’d blocked their numbers, but that didn’t stop them from trying. They called Hastings Industries. They showed up at the gate. Security turned them away. They even tried going through their church, having the pastor call Robert to mediate this family dispute. Finally, Robert had enough.
“Let’s settle this,” he declared over breakfast. “Invite them for dinner here tonight.”
“Robert, no.”
“You need closure, Laura. And frankly, I want to look Gerald Morrison in the eye when he explains throwing out his pregnant daughter.”
Michael squeezed my hand.
“Your choice. But Dad’s right. This limbo isn’t good for you or the baby.”
So I unblocked their numbers long enough to send a single text.
“Dinner at Hastings Estate, 7:00 p.m. Security will have your names.”
They arrived at 6:30 because even when desperate, my parents were punctual. I watched from the upstairs window as their sensible sedan looked hilariously out of place among the manicured gardens. Dad wore his best suit, the one from Rebecca’s wedding. Mom clutched her purse like a shield. We made them wait twenty minutes. Petty, maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely.
When we finally entered the dining room, I wore a dress that showed my bump prominently. If they wanted to be ashamed, they could look at what they had rejected all through dinner.
“Mom, Dad.”
I nodded coolly, taking my seat between Michael and Margaret. My mother’s eyes immediately went to my engagement ring, the three-carat family heirloom that had been Michael’s grandmother’s. I watched her calculate its worth, then glance at my father.
“Laura,” Dad started, then seemed to realize he had no script for this. “You look well.”
“The word you’re looking for is pregnant.”
“We came to apologize,” Mom said quickly.
“Did you? When exactly did you decide to apologize? Before or after you found out who the baby’s father is?”
Silence stretched like taffy. Robert stepped in smoothly.
“Perhaps we should start with dinner. These conversations go better on full stomachs.”
The first course arrived. My parents stared at the array of silverware like it might bite them.
“So,” Dad finally attempted, “Michael, I had no idea you and Laura were involved.”
“Six years,” Michael said pleasantly. “Though I understand Laura felt the need to keep it private. She was protecting your reputation at work. She didn’t want anyone thinking you were getting special treatment because your daughter was dating the boss’s son.”
Mom brightened.
“That’s very thoughtful. Very considerate of her.”
I interrupted.
“Unlike parents who throw their pregnant daughter out without asking a single question.”
“You have to understand,” Dad said, leaning forward. “We were shocked. The pregnancy, no warning—”
“I tried to tell you. You didn’t let me speak before exiling me.”
“We thought you’d made a terrible mistake.”
“The only mistake,” Robert interjected coldly, “was your reaction. Any parent worth the title would have asked questions. Who’s the father? What are the plans? How can we help? Not throw their child out like garbage.”
“Now see here,” Dad started, his face reddening. “I don’t need parenting advice from someone housing your homeless daughter.”
Robert’s voice could have frozen hell.
“You’re right. You need more than advice. You need a conscience.”
The meal continued in agonizing silence until Mom tried again.
“We’re family. We can work through this.”
“Are we family?” I set down my fork. “Was I family when you told me to sleep on the streets? Was I family when you sent my belongings with a note saying don’t bother coming back?”
“We didn’t know about Michael, and that matters.”
“If he’d been a teacher or a mechanic instead of your boss’s son, would throwing me out have been acceptable then?”
They couldn’t answer. Of course they couldn’t.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, surprising myself with my calm. “You’re going to leave. You’re going to tell everyone whatever story makes you feel better, but you will not contact me. You will not show up here. And you will not pretend to be loving grandparents when this baby is born.”
“You can’t mean that,” Mom gasped. “Our grandchild—”
“The grandchild you rejected along with me? That grandchild?”
“We made a mistake,” Dad said desperately. “But now we can be a family. I work for Robert. You’re marrying Michael. We’ll be connected.”
“No,” Robert said, his voice final. “Let me be clear, Gerald. Your employment is safe as long as you do your job. But if you attempt to use this family connection for any personal gain, if you harass Laura, if you show up uninvited again, that will change. Understood?”
My father went pale. Seventeen years of employment hung in the balance, and he knew it.
“Understood,” he whispered.
“Furthermore,” Margaret added, speaking for the first time, “when people ask about your daughter, and they will, you’ll tell them she’s a successful attorney in Chicago. Nothing more. No details about her personal life, her marriage, or her child. You gave up the right to share in her joy when you chose cruelty over compassion.”
“This is kidnapping,” Mom said wildly. “Parental alienation. We’ll sue for grandparents’ rights.”
“Try it,” I said, the lawyer in me finally emerging. “Illinois law requires a pre-existing relationship with the child or proof that parents are unfit. You have neither. Additionally, I have witnesses to you throwing me out while pregnant. How do you think that plays in court?”
They stared at me like I’d grown a second head. This wasn’t their compliant daughter who sought approval. This was someone new, someone who’d found her spine.
“I think we’re done here,” Michael said, standing. “James will drive you home.”
“Laura, please,” Mom begged. “Don’t do this. We’re sorry.”
“I believe you are,” I said sadly. “Sorry you found out too late to benefit from the connection. Sorry you can’t brag about your daughter marrying into wealth. Sorry you lost control of the narrative. But sorry for hurting me? Sorry for abandoning your pregnant daughter? No. You’re not sorry for that at all.”
They left in silence, my mother crying, my father stone-faced. I stood at the window watching their taillights disappear, waiting to feel something. Regret. Sadness. Relief.
“You okay?” Michael asked, wrapping his arms around me.
“You know what I am? They showed me who they really are. Now I can stop hoping for parents they’ll never be.”
