At the baby shower, my mother-in-law snatched my newborn from my arms in front of everyone.

"I'll be the one raising this child," Brenda said with a grin.

I tried to grab him back, but my husband stepped in and stopped me. "She's the better choice."

Brenda didn't let go. She held Theo up at shoulder height and kissed his forehead in front of the whole room, like she was showing off a prize. "Grandma and baby, pictures first! Where's the photographer?"

I started forward. My husband Ethan caught my wrist. "Don't make a scene in front of everyone."

"She just said she's raising my child. You heard her."

"Mom's just happy. Big talk."

"She was smiling when she said it, Ethan. She wasn't joking."

He didn't answer. His fingers stayed closed around my wrist. Not tight. Locked.

At the edge of the crowd, my best friend Sloane set her gift down on the table and stepped forward. I caught her eye and shook my head—barely. She bit her lip and stepped back.

I pulled my hand free. Ethan didn't stop me. He didn't come to my side either. He just stood there, between his mother's laughter and his own silence, and I couldn't reach him.

Brenda carried Theo around the party, stopping at every guest, angling the baby toward them. "See who he looks like? Ethan, when he was little. Grandma's sweet boy. Mommy's still learning, so Grandma gets to show him off first."

Theo kept turning his head in her arms, searching the room. My son was looking for my voice.

I followed three steps behind her—a stranger at somebody else's party.

Brenda stopped at the buffet table and reached for the bottle I'd brought, the one filled with the milk I'd pumped this morning.

"He needs to eat," I said, walking over.

"I'll feed him. You just gave birth—standing that long is hard on your back." She angled her body to block me.

"That's my milk. My baby. And my back's fine."

"Avery, the way you talk, you'd think I'm an outsider." She smiled, her eyes sliding over to the guests.

"You treat me like I'm just a baby machine," I said.

She didn't answer me at all. She turned to the table and laughed. "See what I mean? One baby and now she's all fire."

I looked back at Ethan. He was three steps away, staring at his phone. I waited for him to say: Mom, that's her bottle. I waited for him to say: She's the baby's mother.

He said nothing.

I let go. Brenda slid the bottle into her apron pocket and smiled. "Okay. Grandma's got it."

That milk—I'd gotten up at three in the morning to pump it. She pocketed it in one motion, and it was hers.

A photo spot had been set up with a light-colored backdrop. Brenda waved the photographer over. "Let's do the family portrait first. Grandma and baby. Ethan, stand here."

I walked over. "I haven't had my picture taken."

"You look pale. Go rest. We'll do a solo shot of you later. Same thing."

"This isn't about a solo photo. He's my son. The family portrait should have me in it."

"You'll be in it, you'll be in it. What's the rush?" She smiled and pulled the photographer aside. "Grandma and baby first. This little one can't wait."

Guests raised their phones. Brenda pulled Ethan into the frame.

I stood where I was. My feet wouldn't move.

From the hedge, a low voice said, "Let her be in the photo."

It was Ethan's older brother, Grant. His daughter Callie, five or six, stood next to him.

"Ethan," Grant said again.

Ethan didn't turn around. Brenda turned instead, her voice even. "Grant, bring Callie over. Grandma wants to see her."

Grant looked at me. There was something in that look. But he took his daughter's hand and walked over without another word.

The shutter clicked. I wasn't in the photo. My son was two weeks old, and his first real family portrait didn't include his mother.

After the photos, Brenda carried Theo into the shade under the trees. Theo started fussing. It got louder fast. She bounced him—he cried harder. She switched holds, patted him—his face turned red.

"Is he hungry?" a guest asked.

"He just ate. He's not hungry," Brenda said. Her face said something else.

Theo's cries turned sharp. Everyone was looking now.

I went over and held out my arms. "Give him to me. He knows my voice."

Brenda didn't want to. She stepped back half a step, shushing him frantically. Theo heard my voice and wrenched his head toward me, his whole small body leaning my way, his face bunched up and wet with crying.

One guest couldn't take it anymore. "Just let his mama take him."

Only then did Brenda hand him over, still smiling.

I took him. Theo pressed against my chest, and the crying went soft in seconds—down to hiccups, then quiet. He grabbed my collar and buried his face in my neck.

"Babies need their mama," a woman murmured.

I held him, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. I won that round in front of everyone.

Brenda grabbed the conversation right back. "Well, of course. He smells the milk on her. He'll be crying for Grandma soon enough." She turned to the guests and raised one eyebrow, a look that said: just a nervous new mom.

Brenda headed inside. At the door, she turned back, beaming. "Avery, arms tired? Come see. Grandma set up a room for Theo."

My stomach dropped. She pushed open a door—the one right next to her master bedroom that I'd never been inside.

Behind it was a nursery, completely done. A white crib. A wooden bassinet. A soft yellow nightlight. THEO in hand-stitched letters on the wall. Little folded clothes on the rack. A bottle sterilizer with its light on.

This room hadn't been thrown together last minute. It had been waiting for her to open that door for days.

"When he cries at night, I'll get up with him," Brenda stood in the doorway, letting every guest see inside. "You rest up and heal. His room is right next to mine. I'll hear him."