The Postpartum Revenge

Synopsis

It was only twelve days after I gave birth to Ben Ford. My incision still throbbed with a tearing pain. My mother-in-law, Selena, pushed open my bedroom door with a bowl of warm chicken broth. Before I could feel grateful, she slammed the bowl down on my nightstand. The ceramic clattered loudly against the marble counter, spilling a third of the broth. "Eat it," she snapped, like she was feeding a stray dog. I looked down at the bowl. The broth was cloudy and thin, with a nasty oily foam floating on top. This was the third meal she'd made me in twelve days, roughly one every four days. The rest of the time, I ordered takeout for myself. "Thanks," I said, taking the bowl anyway. She stayed put, looming over me at the bedside with a look I knew all too well. It was not the look of a mother-in-law, but the gaze of someone eyeing a helpless victim. "Hannah," she called, her voice low and strained, each word gritted out between her teeth. "Have you thought about that house of yours yet?" My hand froze. The house again. She'd brought it up four times already. The first time was on the third day after I gave birth to Ben. She casually said, "It's a waste for you to live in such a big house alone." The second time was on the fifth day. She said, "Charles's younger brother, David, is getting married and has no place to live. Can you lend him your place for a while?" The third time was on the eighth day. She said, "Why bother with lending? We're family. Sign it over to him." Today was the fourth time. "I've told you before, that house was left to me by my dad," I said. "Your dad's been dead for years," Selena shouted, her face twisting with anger. "Now you're part of our family, and so are your things. "What, you think after you married into our family, you can still draw a line between us?" I gripped the bowl tighter. "I married Charles, not the Ford family. That house is my premarital property. It has nothing to do with you guys." Selena's face turned dark. It wasn't anger; it was as if a mask had shattered. Her eyes showed no disappointment or sadness, only pure, raw greed and malice. "Hannah Green," she said, for the first time using my full name. "Don't push your luck. "You're a woman who's had a child. Who would want you if you got divorced? Your parents are gone; you're nothing but an orphan. "We Fords took you in. You should be thanking your lucky stars, not talking about premarital property." The words "orphan" stabbed me like a knife.