My Mom Tried to Cash in My Death

I pressed the record button with trembling fingers.

"Mom, Elle's due date is next week! I took the car in for maintenance today so I'd be ready to drive her to the hospital at any moment," I said in exasperation.

Then, I gritted my teeth and hissed, "You cut my brake line. Were you trying to kill all three of us?"

On the other end of the phone, Mom let out a dismissive snort. "Women give birth to babies every day. What makes it so special for her? If she really goes into labor, she can just call a cab. Why does she have to ride in your car? It's not like she's some kind of princess."

She paused, and a calculating tone crept into her voice. "Besides, even if something happens, the accident insurance payout, including the one for the baby in your wife's belly, might be two million dollars. By then, Emmett would have more than enough for the wedding gift.

"He'd even have enough for the down payment for one of those big apartments downtown… There! I win!"

Laughter erupted from the poker table after she won a hand. "Alright, I'm busy here. Hurry up and get on the road."

The call ended.

I stared at my phone, still reeling in disbelief over the sheer absurdity of her words.

To secure a house for my younger brother, Emmett Johnstone, to get married, my own mother had wanted me dead. She had even put a price tag on my wife, who was about to give birth, and my unborn child.

Tom Stepney, my friend at the repair shop, had heard the conversation.

Stunned, he asked, "Henry… I-Is that really your mom?"

Mom.

My thoughts drifted for a moment.

When I was 12, I came down with acute appendicitis in the middle of the night. The pain was so intense that I rolled around in bed, drenched in cold sweat. I cried and begged Mom to take me to the hospital.

The sweet aroma of honey and thyme syrup drifted out from the kitchen. She stood at the stove, carefully stirring the pot.

Meanwhile, Emmett, who had done nothing more than catch a slight chill during the day and cough a couple of times, sat on the couch watching cartoons.

When Mom heard me crying out, she came out carrying a bowl, a look of disdain on her face.

She scolded, "Why are you acting like you're dying in the middle of the night? Do you think a hospital visit is free? Your brother's cough isn't gone yet. How am I supposed to get you treated now? Go back to your room and lie down. Sleep it off, and you'll be fine by morning!"

That night, I didn't even get a sip of hot water.

In the end, I passed out from the pain in the hallway. A neighbor found me, and they rushed me to the hospital. The doctor said that if I had arrived just 30 minutes later, my appendix would have ruptured, and I would have died.

When Mom finally arrived at the hospital, the only thing she asked the doctor was, "How much is this going to cost? Our family doesn't have money to treat him!"

Things like that had happened countless times throughout the first half of my life.

It had happened so many times that I'd grown used to the fact that, in that family, my life was worthless. I existed for one reason only—to pave the way for Emmett.

Snapping myself out of those memories, I declined Tom's offer to drive me home and took a cab instead.

When I pushed open the front door, the afternoon sunlight spilled across the living room couch. My wife, Noelle Weadon, sat there with her heavily pregnant belly. She was gently folding tiny baby clothes one by one.

When she saw me come in, she looked up with a smile. "Honey, look at this little yellow duck onesie. The baby is going to look so adorable in it."

The moment I saw her smiling face, I couldn't hold myself together anymore. I hurried over, but my legs gave out beneath me, and I dropped to my knees.

I buried my face deep against her waist and wrapped my arms tightly around her. I broke down in uncontrollable sobs.

"What happened? Henry, talk to me!" Noelle panicked as she tried to help me up.

Hearing the commotion, my father-in-law, Mark Weadon, and my mother-in-law, Fiona Gray, rushed out of the kitchen. They had been cooking in there.

After I explained everything in emotional stutters, the living room fell silent.

Fiona's eyes reddened with tears. She helped me to my feet and went into the kitchen. Then, she returned with a bowl of warm soup.

"My dear boy, don't be afraid. We're here for you. You're safe," she comforted.

Mark was shaking with rage as he fumed, "Your mom's inhumane. She's an animal! Call the police immediately! Leave the car exactly as it is at the repair shop so it can be examined as evidence."