When we landed, I looked like I’d survived a war zone: hair plastered to my forehead, spit-up stains everywhere, arms aching from wrangling kids and bags. Eric strolled out behind me, yawning like he’d just had a spa day. “Man, that was a great flight. Did you try the pretzels? Oh wait…” He chuckled at his own joke.
At baggage claim, his father rushed forward, arms wide, scooping up Ava. “Look at my grandbabies! And look at you, Mama — champion of the skies.” Then he turned to Eric. “Hey, Pops!” Eric grinned, stepping forward. But his father’s face hardened. “Son… we’ll talk later.”
That night, after the twins were asleep, I heard it. “Eric. In the study. Now.” His father’s voice wasn’t loud, but it had the kind of weight that made grown men straighten their spines. Eric shuffled off like a kid headed to detention.
From the living room, I heard muffled shouts. “You think that was funny? Left your wife with two toddlers?” Eric mumbled excuses, but his father cut him off: “That’s not the damn point, Eric!” Fifteen minutes later, my father-in-law emerged calm and collected. He patted my shoulder and whispered, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I took care of it.” Eric slunk upstairs without a word.
The next evening, his mom cheerfully announced dinner plans. Eric lit up. “Nice! Somewhere fancy?” She smiled and said only, “You’ll see.”
We arrived at a stunning waterfront restaurant — white tablecloths, candlelight, jazz drifting through the air. The waiter took drink orders. His father ordered bourbon, his mother asked for iced tea, I requested sparkling water. Then he looked at Eric. “And for him… a glass of milk. Since he clearly can’t handle being an adult.”
Silence fell for a beat, then laughter rippled around the table. Even the waiter smirked. Eric’s face turned crimson. He barely spoke the rest of the night.
Two days later, while I was folding laundry on the porch, my father-in-law joined me. “Just wanted you to know,” he said, “I updated the will. There’s a trust for Ava and Mason now — college, first car, whatever they need. And for you, their mama, you’ll always be taken care of.”
I blinked, stunned. He smiled. “As for Eric… let’s just say his share shrinks every time he forgets what it means to put family first.”
Eric’s attitude shifted fast. By the morning of our return flight, he was suddenly Super Dad. “I’ll carry the car seats,” he said, hoisting one like it weighed nothing. “Want me to take Mason’s bag too?” I raised an eyebrow but let him sweat.
At check-in, the gate agent handed him his boarding pass and paused. “Looks like you’ve been upgraded again, sir.”
Eric’s face lit up — then fell. The ticket sleeve had writing scrawled across the front in bold black marker: “Business class again. Enjoy. But this one’s one-way. You’ll explain it to your wife.”
I snatched it, recognizing the handwriting instantly. “Oh my God,” I whispered. “Your dad didn’t…”
“He did,” Eric muttered. “Said I can ‘relax in luxury’ all the way to the hotel I’ll be checking into alone for a few days. To think about my priorities.”
I laughed so hard I nearly cried. “Guess karma reclines fully flat now,” I said, walking past him with both kids in tow.
At the gate, he leaned over sheepishly. “So… any chance I can earn my way back to economy?”
I adjusted Mason on my hip, smirked, and kept walking. If he wanted to prove he belonged beside us, he had a lot more to carry than a diaper bag.
