My mother-in-law gave us an expensive baby formula as a gift. But the second we got home, I threw it straight into the trash. My husband exploded, “I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS UNGRATEFUL DISRESPECT.”. I looked at him and said, “Take a closer look at the back of the can.”

“I spent four thousand dollars having these privately couriered from an exclusive clinic in Geneva during this absurd shortage,” Victoria announced proudly, swelling with the importance of her own performance. She waved a diamond-covered hand over the tins. “I simply want my grandson to meet the Hayes standard. He’s much too fussy, Hannah, and he isn’t gaining the kind of sturdy weight a Hayes child should.”

I stared at the tins while a cold weight dropped into my stomach.

“Victoria, I’m exclusively breastfeeding,” I said carefully. “His pediatrician says his weight is exactly where it should be for his percentile. I don’t know this brand. It isn’t FDA approved.”

Graham let out a tired scoff, like I was some paranoid child determined to ruin a generous gesture. He did not defend me. He never did. In fact, his face brightened with relief at the sight of the tins, desperate for anything that might make Mason sleep longer so his own nights would be easier.

“Hannah, come on, don’t be dramatic,” Graham sighed, lifting one of the tins with admiration. “Mom pulled serious strings to get this. It’s elite European formula. It’s probably miles ahead of anything here. You should be thanking her.”