Chapter 2

My mother-in-law was sprawled on the couch, legs crossed, watching TV. When she heard me, she didn't even bother to look up.

"At my age? Surgery? It's not like it's killing me. I'm getting by just fine."

I'd expected exactly that. I made a show of hesitating, picked up a pair of her pants from the laundry pile nearby, and let my voice trail off like I wasn't sure how to say what came next.

"It's just... Mom, it seems like the leaking has been getting worse lately. Look — it's only been a few days, and already so many pairs you can't wear anymore. And the smell..."

The moment she realized what I was holding — her urine-stained pants — her face went crimson. Her neck stiffened.

"Summer! What exactly are you implying? Are you saying you're too good for this? You married into this family. Doing a little laundry for your mother-in-law — isn't that just part of the deal?"

I laughed on the inside.

This bladder problem of hers started when she gave birth to my husband, Ethan. By any reasonable standard, it was her son's responsibility to look after her — what did that have to do with me, the daughter-in-law?

But ever since she'd moved in with us, the apartment had carried this persistent, sour smell that never quite went away.

At first, I'd felt sorry for her. She'd worked hard her whole life. So I'd helped with the laundry a few times out of kindness — and somehow that turned into my permanent job.

If I didn't do it, the dirty clothes would pile up in the hamper until the whole living room reeked. Even Ethan's clothes and mine ended up smelling strange.

I frowned slightly and leaned closer, keeping my voice low, my tone nothing but sincere.

"Mom, I'm not complaining about you. I'm worried about Ethan. He's been grumbling to me lately — saying the smell is bothering him. Have you noticed? He's been coming home less and less."

"And Dad — I mean, why else would he rather stay out at that old property than come live here with you? I just want things to be good between you and Dad. That's all I'm thinking about."

The moment I brought up her precious son and her husband, her whole expression shifted.

She instinctively lifted her sleeve and sniffed it. Her eyes flickered. She thought about how Ethan had been citing "late nights at the office" as his excuse lately, and how her husband refused to budge from their old place no matter what she said. Her resistance crumbled — though her pride made sure her mouth held on a little longer.

"Well, if you're so sure about it, fine. But you're paying for the surgery. And you are not to tell Ethan or his father. You hear me?"

I smiled and nodded, offering a few reassuring words.

Not wanting to give her time to change her mind, I headed to the hospital first thing the next morning and booked her procedure.

I was just leaving with the paperwork when a nurse called out to me.

"Family member? The doctor needs to go over the procedure with you."

I pushed open the exam room door. The woman sitting behind the desk looked up — and it was Sandra, Ethan's childhood sweetheart and the woman he'd never quite let go of.

She was holding the freshly printed surgical paperwork, eyebrows drawn together, looking at me with poorly concealed suspicion.

"I thought you were here for a uterine fibroid. Why did you schedule a urinary incontinence procedure?"