After giving birth to my first children, I thought my husband would finally prioritize us over his mother. But this time, he sided with her for the last time, forcing me to expose her for the manipulative liar she truly was.
Bringing your newborn twins home is supposed to be one of the happiest moments of your life. For me, it started that way but quickly turned into an absolute nightmare.

After three exhausting days in the hospital recovering from childbirth, I was finally discharged and ready to head home with my beautiful twin daughters, Ella and Sophie. I’d imagined this moment for months: Derek, my husband, picking us up from the hospital with flowers, tears of joy in his eyes, and scooping one of the girls into his arms.
But instead, I got a rushed phone call that changed everything.
“Hey, honey,” Derek said, his voice tense. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t pick you up as planned.”
“What?” I asked, adjusting Sophie’s blanket. “Derek, I just had twins. What could possibly be so important that you can’t—”
“It’s my mom,” he interrupted. “She’s in terrible shape—chest pains, struggling to breathe. I need to take her to the hospital near her place.”
His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. “What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Derek, I need you here.”
“I know,” he said, sounding exasperated. “But this happened suddenly, and it’s serious. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”
Gritting my teeth, I fought back the urge to scream at him, overwhelmed by disappointment and frustration. “Fine. I’ll take a taxi.”
“Thank you,” he murmured before hanging up.
Since Derek’s mother lived in another city, I knew the chances of him making it back the same day were slim to none. Derek’s obsession with his mom meant she’d have his undivided attention for the foreseeable future.
After the call ended, my heart sank. I wanted to believe Derek wasn’t being insensitive—just overwhelmed and a little too much of a mama’s boy. Still, the disappointment stung.
I bundled up the girls in their car seats, called a taxi, and tried to shake off my irritation.
When the taxi pulled into our driveway, I froze. My suitcases, diaper bags, and even the crib mattress were strewn across the front lawn near the door! A knot formed in my stomach. I paid the driver, got out with the twins, and looked around nervously. Something was very wrong.
I approached the front door, fumbling with my keys while absentmindedly calling Derek’s name, even though I knew he couldn’t be home. The key didn’t turn. Confused, I tried again. Nothing. That’s when I saw it: a folded piece of paper taped to one of the bags.
“Get out with your freeloading brats! I know everything. –Derek.”
My breath caught, and my heart stopped. My hands trembled as I read the note over and over, trying to make sense of it, hoping it was some horrible mistake or hallucination. This couldn’t be happening—not Derek.
Not the man who held my hand at every doctor’s appointment, who cried when we first heard our daughters’ heartbeats.
Wanting answers, I called him immediately. Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Panic set in as Sophie’s cries joined Ella’s. I rocked the car seats, forcing myself to think.
“Mom,” I whispered, my hands shaking as I dialed her number.
“Jenna?” Mom answered on the first ring. “What’s wrong? Are the twins okay?”
I choked on my words, barely holding myself together. “Derek… he changed the locks. He threw my things out. Mom, he left a horrible note.”
“WHAT?!” Her voice shot up. “Stay there. I’m coming.”
Minutes felt like hours before she arrived. Mom took one look at the mess and narrowed her eyes, seething.
“This makes no sense! Derek wouldn’t do this; he loves you and the girls!”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, rocking Ella to calm her cries. “But he’s not answering, and what does ‘I know everything’ even mean?” I showed her the note.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said, hugging me tightly. “Let’s go to my house until we can figure this out, okay?”
She helped load my bags into her car and took us back to her place. That night, I barely slept.
The next morning, determined to get answers, I left the twins with my mom and drove back to my house in her car. The yard was empty; my belongings were gone. I knocked on the door. No answer. Circling to the back, I peered through the windows and froze.
Derek’s mother, Lorraine, was sitting at the dining table, sipping tea! I banged on the door. She glanced up, startled, almost spilling her tea before seeing me and smirking.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, banging on the door again.
Lorraine got up slowly and cracked the door open. “Jenna. You’re not welcome here. Didn’t you see the note?”
“Where’s Derek?” I shot back. “Why did he—”
“He’s at the hospital near my house,” she said softly. “Caring for his sick mother.”
I stared at her, disbelief washing over me. “Sick? You’re standing right here!”
She shrugged, her lips curling into a malicious smile. “Maybe I’m feeling better. Miracles happen.”
“You lied to him, didn’t you? You faked being sick!”
Her smile widened. “And?”
My hands balled into fists. “Why? Why would you do this?”
She crossed her arms, her smugness growing.
“I told Derek from the beginning that our family needed a boy to carry on the name. But you? You gave us two girls. Useless,” she confessed unapologetically.
Her words knocked the air out of me.
“You kicked us out because of that?”
“Of course,” she said nonchalantly. “And I even bribed a nurse at the hospital to keep him busy. Worked like a charm, didn’t it?”
I couldn’t breathe. This woman had orchestrated everything, lied to her son, and locked me and my newborn daughters out of our home—all because she disapproved of their gender!
Furious, I drove to the hospital to find Derek pacing in the waiting room, his face dark with worry.
“Jenna!” he exclaimed, running toward me. “Where have you been? I don’t have my phone or your number memorized. I couldn’t call you!”
“Your mother took your phone,” I snapped. “She faked being sick and locked me out of the house!”
His face shifted from confusion to rage. Without a word, he grabbed his keys and stormed out, me following close behind.
When we arrived home, Lorraine’s smug expression evaporated at the sight of Derek’s furious glare.
“Mom,” he said coldly, “what did you do?”
She opened her mouth, likely to lie, but he cut her off. “Save it. I know everything.”
“But Derek, I was just trying to—”
“You’ve done enough,” he interrupted. “You made me abandon my wife and kids for a fake emergency! Then you locked them out of their home and stole my phone during one of the most important times of our lives!”
Her pleading fell on deaf ears. Derek turned to me, remorse in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know.”
I exhaled shakily, tension releasing. “Let’s just move forward.”
Lorraine left that night, and Derek worked tirelessly to rebuild our life. He changed the locks, blocked her number, and even reported the bribed nurse.
While it wasn’t easy, we emerged stronger, proving that no one—not even Lorraine—could tear us apart.