Catching me with a black eye, my parents said nothing. When they left, my husband relaxed and smirked smugly. But his joy didn’t last long—fifteen minutes later, the lock clicked again
Valerie Patricia Crawford always treated her three-bedroom apartment in Manhattan like a living being. Every time she returned from work, she would gently run her hand along the doorframe, as if greeting the home. The apartment had been passed down from her parents, with ceilings nearly ten feet high, parquet flooring laid in 1939, walls a foot and a half thick—a true family nest where even the creak of the floorboards felt familiar and comforting.
After her husband’s death, Valerie Patricia lived in these spacious rooms with her son Daniel. She worked as an accountant at a construction company, often staying late, but she always found time to prepare dinner for her boy. Daniel grew up headstrong, accustomed from childhood to getting everything he wanted.
Perhaps it was her fault; she spoiled her only child too much, unable to refuse him after his father’s death. Valerie Patricia preferred not to notice how her son gradually turned into someone who believed the world should revolve around him. When Daniel brought his fiancée Abigail to meet his mother, Valerie Patricia felt mixed emotions.
On one hand, the bride seemed too quiet, even downtrodden; on the other, the girl’s gentle nature might balance her son’s temperament. Abigail worked in a library, had two college degrees, and spoke in a soft, melodious voice. «It’s very nice to meet you, Valerie Patricia,» the girl said then, extending a bouquet of daisies.
«Dan has told me so much about you.» Valerie Patricia took the flowers, noting how cold and trembling the bride’s fingers were. The poor thing is nervous.
At that time, she didn’t yet understand that this tremor wasn’t just excitement from meeting her future mother-in-law. Their romance developed rapidly. Daniel met Abigail at a corporate event; his firm had rented a conference room in a cultural center where the library was located.
He saw her at the registration desk, approached to introduce himself, and three months later proposed. «Mom, we’ve decided to get married,» Daniel announced at dinner, placing his hand on Abigail’s shoulder. She sat with her eyes lowered to her plate, her cheeks flushed.
«Well, kids, if you’re sure…» Valerie Patricia dabbed her lips with a napkin. «When are you planning to register?» «In a month.» «Why drag it out?» her son replied confidently, squeezing his fiancée’s shoulder a bit harder than necessary…
They had the wedding in May. A small celebration at a restaurant, attended by Abigail’s parents—intellectual, taciturn people—and a few friends of the newlyweds. Abigail’s father, Victor Andrews, taught physics at the university until his first minor stroke.
Her mother, Irene Sanders, worked as a literature teacher at a high school. They looked at their daughter with that anxious tenderness that Valerie Patricia immediately recognized. The parents seemed to sense they were giving their daughter into foreign hands, and those hands wouldn’t always be gentle.
At the wedding, Valerie Patricia exchanged phone numbers with Irene Sanders. You never know what might come up, she said, jotting down the number in a small notebook. Her daughter’s phone often runs out of battery.
It was then, watching the happy newlyweds, that Valerie Patricia made her decision. The large apartment was underused; she mainly utilized the kitchen and bedroom, rarely entering the living room or her son’s former room. The young couple needed space to build a family.
«Dan, Abby, I have a wedding gift for you,» she announced, raising a glass of champagne. «I’m moving to a studio apartment in Queens. The Manhattan apartment is now yours.
Live there, raise children.» Daniel hugged his mother, genuinely grateful for once. «Thanks, Mom.
We won’t forget, right, Abby?» Abigail nodded in confusion, her eyes filling with tears. «Valerie Patricia, but how! This is your home!» «Now it’s yours, dear! And I’ve long wanted something smaller. Less cleaning, less to pay for utilities,» she winked at her daughter-in-law, hiding her own anxiety.
The move happened a week after the wedding. Valerie Patricia took the minimum—her favorite armchair, a few books, photo albums, and a portrait of her late husband. She left the rest for the young couple.
Bidding farewell to the apartment, she secretly stroked the doorframe as she had done thousands of times before and whispered, «Take care of them.» The studio on the outskirts turned out to be bright and cozy. The renovation had been done recently, smelling of fresh paint and new wallpaper.
Valerie Patricia quickly settled in, befriended her neighbor, a spirited retiree named Zelda Maxwell, a former police department employee. She gave Valerie Patricia a stun gun for an elderly woman’s safety in a residential area. The gift went into a dresser drawer and was happily forgotten.
In the first months, the newlyweds called often, inviting her over. Valerie Patricia came with pies, helped her daughter-in-law get comfortable in the new kitchen, shared stories about the apartment. Right here, on this windowsill, Danny once set up a laboratory, mixing cologne with watercolor paints.
Can you imagine, Abby, what happened? And right there, she pointed to the parquet by the window. In ’43, a shard from an anti-aircraft gun fell. Grandpa Daniel, my father-in-law, fixed it himself.
Abigail listened attentively, asking about details with genuine interest, while Daniel just waved it off. «Mom, again with your stories? It’s getting boring for Abby, right?» «No-no, I’m interested.» Abigail hurriedly objected, but fell silent under her husband’s heavy gaze.
Three months after the wedding, Abigail got pregnant. Valerie Patricia learned about it from her son’s short message. «Mom, we’re having a baby, Abby has morning sickness.»
The pregnancy was difficult. Abigail suffered from morning sickness until the sixth month. She lost weight, grew pale, often stayed in the hospital for preservation.
Valerie Patricia offered help, but Daniel invariably replied. «We’ll manage ourselves, no need to fuss.» Maxwell was born in January, a large, healthy boy with strong lungs.
His cry filled the Manhattan apartment from the first room to the last. Valerie Patricia came for the discharge, bringing a teddy bear as big as herself and a basket of baby things. «The spitting image of Danny,» she cooed, examining her grandson, «he was such a strongman too.»
But in Abigail’s eyes, she noticed not only maternal tenderness but also deep fatigue, almost fear. Daniel stood nearby, holding a bouquet, and impatiently tapped his foot on the asphalt. «It’s cold, let’s hurry home…
Abby, I called a cab, no point waiting.» At home, helping her daughter-in-law unpack, Valerie Patricia asked. «How’s Dan? Helping with the baby?» Abigail flinched as if struck.
«Yes-yes, of course. He, he just gets tired at work. And Max is very loud.
Dan doesn’t get enough sleep.» In her voice, Valerie Patricia caught a note she didn’t like at all, as if Abigail was making excuses for something she hadn’t done. «You know, Abby, little kids are always tough.
If anything, call anytime, I’ll come help.» «Thanks,» Abigail whispered, and for a moment Valerie Patricia thought her daughter-in-law wanted to say something else, but at that moment Daniel entered the room. «Mom, you’re still here? We’d like to rest, first day home after all.»
«Yes-yes, of course, I’m leaving,» Valerie Patricia kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek. «Take care of yourself, Abby.» Leaving the building, she turned back to the apartment windows, as if sensing something, but dismissed the anxious thoughts.
Just maternal paranoia, her son would mature, get used to fatherhood, everything would be fine. Only at the door of her studio did Valerie Patricia remember how her daughter-in-law jerked when Daniel accidentally brushed her shoulder. That reaction, an instant unconscious fear, reminded her of something.
That’s how her own mother flinched when her father came home tipsy. «I’ll keep an eye on them,» Valerie Patricia promised herself, opening the door to her small apartment. She didn’t know then that she’d have to fulfill that promise much sooner than she thought.
The first weeks with newborn Max turned the spacious Manhattan apartment into a war zone. The baby’s cry disrupted the silence at the most unexpected moments, echoing off the high ceilings and seeming to soak into the walls. Abigail, with red eyes from lack of sleep, dashed between the crib, kitchen, and bathroom, trying to figure out what her son needed.
«Why is he screaming again?» Daniel sat in the kitchen, clutching his head. For the third night in a row, he couldn’t sleep before work. «I don’t know,» Abigail whispered, rocking the baby, «maybe colic? Or teething?» «What teeth? He’s a month old!» Daniel slammed his cup on the table.
Dark circles under his eyes made him look like a cornered animal. «I have work in three hours. Three hours, Abby, and I haven’t slept for three days!» «I’ll try to go to the far room with him,» Abigail hurriedly pressed Max to her chest, heading for the kitchen exit.
«And what will that do?» Daniel stood up abruptly, blocking her way. «You think these walls block the sound? Do something to make him shut up, that’s your job!» Abigail instinctively stepped back, shielding the baby. «Dan, I’m trying, I really am!» «Not enough!» He punched the table, making the dishes jump.
«Maybe my mom was right when she said you’re not ready for motherhood?» It was a lie. Valerie Patricia had never said anything like that. On the contrary, she often praised Abigail for her patience and tenderness toward the child.
But Daniel started using his mother’s name as a pressure tool, knowing how Abigail respected her mother-in-law. «I… I’ll manage!» was all the young mother could squeeze out, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She spent that night in the far room, rocking Max and crying silently.
In the morning, Daniel left for work, slamming the door without saying goodbye. Abigail was left alone with the infant in the huge apartment, where every creak of the floorboards now filled her with anxiety. From that day, a first crack appeared in their relationship, thin, almost invisible, but deepening with each day.
By two months, Max calmed down a bit, sleeping longer at night. Abigail hoped their life would settle now, but Daniel had already gotten used to playing the offended party. He came home late from work, often smelling of alcohol, criticizing everything from the mess in the apartment to how Abigail swaddled the baby.
«You can’t even do that right,» he tossed, watching his wife change the diaper. «Hands like hooks.» «Sorry,» Abigail responded automatically, though she knew perfectly well she was doing it correctly.
Her friend Samantha, who dropped by one afternoon, noticed the changes in Abigail. «What’s going on with you? You’ve become so jumpy.» Abigail tried to smile.
«Just tired with the baby. You know, first child—it’s not easy.» «And Dan helps?» Samantha glanced at the photo of smiling Daniel on the wall.
«Of course,» Abigail answered too quickly, «he just has a tough job, lots of stress.» Samantha wanted to say more, but the phone rang. Abigail looked at the screen…
«Dan.» And her face changed immediately. «Yes, Dan?» Her voice became quieter, almost ingratiating.
«No, I remember. Of course. I’ll prepare everything now.
Yes, Samantha stopped by briefly. Okay, I’ll tell her you’re running late.» Hanging up, she hurriedly started clearing the cups from the table.
«Dan will be late. He has a meeting. Samantha, sorry, I need to do some housework.»
«I can help,» her friend offered, but Abigail shook her head. «No-no, I’ll do it myself. Thanks for coming.»
After Samantha left, Abigail took meat from the fridge for dinner, though she knew her husband was unlikely to return before midnight. She cooked, cleaned, washed, as if trying to create a perfect home where there’d be nothing to nitpick. Max slept in his crib, and Abigail kept checking on him, just to make sure the baby was okay.
«Maybe I’m really doing something wrong?» This thought visited her more often. Daniel was so convincing in his accusations that she began doubting her own competence, both as a mother and as a wife. By three months with Max, Abigail had almost stopped communicating with friends.
She ignored calls from Samantha, left messages from former library colleagues unanswered. Daniel insisted that hanging out with girlfriends was a waste of time she should devote to the family. «I don’t get what you even talk about,» he snorted when Abigail timidly mentioned an invitation to Samantha’s birthday.
«Sit and gossip? You have a child, what parties?» «It’s just tea at a cafe,» Abigail started, but stopped under his heavy gaze. «If you’re so bored at home, maybe visit my mom instead, she’ll teach you some sense on how to keep a family.»
Abigail again heard hints in his words about some complaints from her mother-in-law, though in their rare meetings, Valerie Patricia was invariably kind and even concerned about her daughter-in-law’s condition. «Abby, you’ve lost weight?» she would say, looking closely at the young woman’s gaunt face. «You need more rest. Maybe I’ll take Max for the weekend? He’ll stay with grandma, and you and Dan can relax.»
«No, thanks,» Abigail hurriedly refused, «we’re managing, the baby is just fussy.» She was afraid to leave the child with grandma, not because she didn’t trust Valerie Patricia, but because she didn’t want to be alone with her husband. Max’s presence somehow restrained Daniel’s growing aggression.
One evening, when Max was already fast asleep, Daniel came home earlier than usual, smelling of expensive cologne and someone else’s perfume. Abigail sat in the kitchen, scrolling through photos of her son on her phone, the only entertainment she allowed herself. «What, on your phone again?» Daniel tossed his keys on the table…
