My MIL Said, ‘Give My Son a Boy or Get Out’ – Then My Husband Looked at Me and Asked, ‘So When Are You Leaving?’

I was chopping vegetables. Derek was at the table scrolling his phone. Patricia was “wiping” the already clean counter.

He didn’t look shocked.

She waited until the TV was loud in the living room.

“If you don’t give my son a boy this time,” she said, calm as anything, “you and your girls can crawl back to your parents. I won’t have Derek trapped in a house full of females.”

I turned off the stove.

I looked at Derek.

He didn’t look shocked.

“I need a son.”

He looked entertained.

“You’re okay with that?” I asked him.

He leaned back, smirking.

“So when are you leaving?”

My legs went weak.

“Seriously?” I said. “You’re fine with your mom talking like our daughters aren’t enough?”

“A real boy’s room.”

He shrugged. “I’m 35, Claire. I need a son.”

Something in me cracked.

After that, it was like they put an invisible clock over my head.

Patricia started leaving empty boxes in the hallway.

“Just getting ready,” she’d say. “No point waiting until the last minute.”

She’d stroll into our room and say to Derek, “When she’s gone, we’ll make this blue. A real boy’s room.”

He wasn’t warm, but he was decent.

If I cried, Derek would sneer, “Maybe all that estrogen made you weak.”

I cried in the shower.

I rubbed my belly and whispered, “I’m trying. I’m sorry.”

The only person who didn’t throw jabs was Michael, my FIL.