I waited for David to defend me.
To tell his mother that every house gets mice sometimes. That it doesn't mean I'm a bad housekeeper. That we'd handle it.
But he said nothing.
He just stood there. Silent. While his mother questioned whether our home was safe for our own children.
After she left that evening, the house felt suffocating.
David was quiet at dinner. Quiet while we put the kids to bed.
Then I heard him on the phone.
I was walking down the hallway when I heard his voice from our bedroom.
"I know, Mom. I'll talk to her about it."
My hands started shaking.
He was talking to HER. About ME. Taking her side.
That's when I realized: this wasn't just about mice.
This was about power. About who was a good enough mother, a good enough wife, a good enough woman for her son.
And according to Barbara, I would never measure up.