“Of course not,” she smiled, squeezing my hand. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy.”

I told Ethan about it that night. He held me close and kissed my forehead.

“She’s just protective,” he said. “Give her time.”

So I did.

But a year later, they showed us exactly who they were.

The breaking point came when Ethan declined a promotion that would’ve required us to move across the country.

He told his parents over the phone. Thirty minutes later, they were at our door—furious.

His father didn’t wait to be invited inside. He pushed past us, pacing our small living room.

“You’re throwing away a guaranteed future,” he snapped. “Do you have any idea what you’re giving up? That salary alone would’ve set you for life.”

“But it means moving far away,” Ethan said, slipping an arm around my shoulders.

I nodded, then spoke. “We hadn’t planned to tell you yet, but I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

I thought the news would soften them. I thought it would help them understand.

Instead, his mother folded her arms. “Women relocate while pregnant all the time. This isn’t the 1950s.”

His father stopped pacing and pointed at me. “You’re trapping him in mediocrity.”

Ethan stepped between us. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s unfair,” his mother said coldly, “is watching our son give up everything we worked for. For what? A cramped apartment and a wife who’s a teacher?”

Ethan tried to explain. “We wanted our child to grow up knowing you—”

His father cut him off. “Family is legacy. It’s building something that lasts.”