The front door was already open when I stepped inside. My sister Vanessa stood in the foyer like she had been waiting just behind it. She smiled at the baby first, not at me. Then, before I could even put the diaper bag down, she lunged forward and ripped Emma straight out of my arms.
I screamed.
My mother didn’t move. My father, sitting in his recliner, didn’t even stand.
“Vanessa, give her back!” I shouted, stepping toward her with my hands out.
Instead of returning my baby, she took two quick steps backward. “Not until you sign,” she said.
I stared at her, confused. “Sign what?”
My father calmly picked up a manila folder from the side table as if this were any ordinary conversation. “The house and the car. Transfer them to your sister today, and everything stays calm.”
I actually laughed, but it came out weak and broken. “Please… I just gave birth.”
Vanessa leaned in close to Emma and bounced her once, carelessly, like my daughter was nothing more than a prop. Then she looked at me with eyes I had known all my life and somehow never truly seen. “Deed first,” she said quietly, “or the baby goes out the window.”
I lunged.
Before I made it halfway across the rug, my father caught me from behind and twisted my arms back so hard I cried out. Pain shot across my ribs and down my spine. I begged, screamed, cursed, promised anything. My mother stood near the dining room entrance, arms folded, watching like she was waiting for a scene to play out.
