When Melissa, my mother-in-law, came over to help with my colicky baby while Peter, my husband, was away, I thought I would finally get some much-needed rest. But the events of that day left me questioning her intentions, my instincts as a mother, and even my relationship with Peter.

Exhaustion had taken over my life. Emily, my three-month-old, was colicky, and sleep came in sporadic, precious intervals. My hair was a mess, my shirt a collage of spit-up stains, and I felt like I was barely surviving.

Peter had called earlier to check in. “How are my girls?” he asked.

“We’re managing,” I said, forcing a laugh as I rocked Emily. “You’re lucky you’re on the road and not here with this little tyrant.”

He chuckled. “You’re doing great, babe. Mom offered to come by tomorrow to help. Let her. You need a break.”

Peter’s solutions were always pragmatic, even if not exactly what I wanted to hear. Melissa and I didn’t have a warm relationship. She wasn’t unkind, but her comments always seemed to carry a subtle judgment. Despite my reservations, the thought of an uninterrupted nap was too tempting.

The next day, Melissa arrived punctually, casserole dish in hand. She breezed through the door with her usual air of confidence.

“You look pale, Alicia. Are you eating enough?” she asked, eyeing me critically.

“I’m trying,” I replied, smiling faintly.

She reached for Emily, bracelets jingling as she bounced her gently. “Now, go lie down. You look like you might collapse any second.”

I hesitated but eventually retreated to my room, warning Melissa about Emily’s tendency to fuss. As I lay down, I overheard her muttering something about how “babies today are so coddled.” The comment left a bitter taste, but I was too tired to care.

I woke up to the sound of Emily’s piercing cries. My heart raced as I realized something was off. My phone wasn’t on the nightstand, and the baby monitor screen was black. Panicked, I bolted to Emily’s room and found her in her crib, crying and unattended.

Scooping her up, I tried to soothe her, my mind racing. Why hadn’t Melissa checked on her? Where was my phone?

I changed Emily’s diaper and searched the house, growing more anxious by the second. The living room and kitchen were empty. Then, through the window, I saw Melissa outside, laughing as she spoke on my phone.

I left Emily safely in her crib, handed her a toy, and stormed outside. “Melissa!” I yelled, startling her.

She turned, phone in hand. “Oh, Alicia. You’re awake.”

“Why was Emily crying while you were out here? And why do you have my phone?” I demanded.

Melissa sighed. “Peter called, so I answered. I didn’t want to wake you, so I brought it outside.”

“You unplugged the baby monitor too, didn’t you?” I snapped.

“Yes,” she admitted, her tone defensive. “You needed your rest. I thought if she cried, it might wake you. But she wasn’t crying when I stepped outside.”

“How long have you been on the phone?” I asked, barely controlling my anger.

She glanced at the screen. “Thirty-seven minutes.”

Thirty-seven minutes. I couldn’t believe it. “You left her alone for thirty-seven minutes?”

Melissa folded her arms. “She wasn’t crying the whole time. And crying doesn’t hurt babies. Honestly, Alicia, you’re overreacting.”

Overreacting? Her response sent me over the edge. “You were supposed to help me, not ignore my daughter and steal my phone.”

“Steal?” Melissa retorted. “Peter wanted to check in, and I was doing you a favor by letting you sleep.”

I didn’t argue further. “You need to leave. Now.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Go. I don’t trust you to look after Emily.”

Melissa muttered under her breath as she grabbed her things and stormed out. Back inside, I held Emily close, replaying the events in my mind. Had I overreacted? Melissa was Peter’s mother. But I couldn’t shake the sound of Emily’s cries.

When Peter returned the next day, I recounted everything. He sighed heavily. “She didn’t mean any harm, Alicia. She was trying to help you rest.”

“She left Emily unattended,” I shot back. “How is that helping?”

“You didn’t have to kick her out,” he argued. “She came to help because she cares. Now she feels unwelcome.”

“Are you more worried about her feelings than Emily’s safety?” I asked, frustration boiling over.

Peter sighed again, unwilling to fully take my side. The conversation ended in a tense silence, leaving me feeling unsupported.

That night, as I lay in bed, I replayed everything. Could I have handled it differently? Perhaps. But the image of Melissa laughing on the phone while Emily cried kept surfacing. I knew I had done what I thought was best for my daughter. Her safety was non-negotiable, even if it meant straining family ties.