My sister demanded I give her my baby when he’s born

Jordan looked between us. “She has a name picked out. She talks about him like he’s already hers.”

I felt cold all over. “She’s not going to stop,” Jordan said.

“She’s never going to stop. She’s been waiting her whole life for a boy and now she thinks she’s finally going to get one. She doesn’t care what she has to do.”

I thought about Carly on top of my husband. I thought about Jordan’s bruise, the years of abuse, the nursery waiting for my son.

“She’s not getting him,” I said.

“She’s not getting you either.” Jordan looked at me.

Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked exhausted, rung out, like she’d just run a marathon.

“She always wins,” Jordan declared.

“Not this time.” I shook my head.

Jordan didn’t say anything. She just leaned into me and closed her eyes.

Zach came over and put his arms around both of us. We stood there in the quiet, the three of us holding each other up.

For the first time in her life, Jordan wasn’t alone. And neither were we.

Jordan stayed over and slept in our guest room. I sat on the bed next to Zach wondering how we were going to keep our baby safe from my crazy sister.

He was coming any day now. But I’m not scared of her anymore.

I’m angry—angry for Jordan, for Zach, for myself. Let me tell you what happened just days after I gave birth.

You’re not going to believe this. Finally, my baby boy was born.

He was healthy and perfect. I held him in my arms and for a moment I forgot about everything else.

I just looked at my son and felt something I’d never felt before. Like I would do anything to protect him.

Anything. We came home from the hospital 2 days after that.

Jordan was still staying with us. She helped with the baby while Zach and I tried to figure out how to function on no sleep.

Those first few days were a blur of feedings and diaper changes and exhaustion so deep it felt like drowning. And on top of that, I was on guard all the time.

I kept waiting for Carly to show up, to call, to do something. But there was nothing.

No contact from her. No contact from my parents.

Just silence. Part of me wanted to believe it was over, that she’d finally given up.

But Jordan’s words kept echoing in my head. “She’s not going to stop. She’s never going to stop. She’s been waiting her whole life for a boy.”

By the fifth night home, I was so tired I could barely see straight. Zach was the same.

Even Jordan looked exhausted from helping us around the clock. That night, we all went to bed early.

My baby was in his nursery down the hall. I had the monitor on my nightstand, volume all the way up.

I remember thinking I should stay awake, I should watch. But my body wouldn’t cooperate.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I don’t know how long I was out before Jordan was shaking me awake.

“Enid.” Her voice was urgent, scared.

“Enid, wake up.” I opened my eyes and the room was dark.

Jordan was standing over me, her face pale. “What’s wrong?” I asked, still half asleep.

“I heard something.” “A door, I think. Someone’s in the house.”

Zach was already sitting up beside me. “What?” “I heard the front door,” Jordan said.

“I’m sure of it.” We all went quiet, listening, and then we heard it: the baby crying, then stopping.

Then the sound of footsteps moving fast. Then the front door closing.

I was out of bed before I knew I was moving. I ran down the hall to the nursery and threw open the door.

The crib was empty. My son was gone.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

I just stood there staring at the empty space where my baby was supposed to be. This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening. Then Zach was rushing past me running for the front door.

“Call 911!” He yelled over his shoulder.

I tried to follow but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I’d given birth 5 days ago.

Everything still hurt. I was slow and clumsy, and by the time I got to the hallway Jordan was there grabbing my arm, helping me move.

“Give me your phone,” I said.

She handed it over and I dialed 911 as we moved toward the front door. “911, what’s your emergency?”

“My sister took my baby.” My voice was shaking so bad I could barely get the words out.

“She broke into my house and took my baby. She’s in front of my house right now. Please hurry.”

I gave them the address and hung up. We made it outside and I saw them.

Carly was halfway down the driveway, my son in her arms. She was moving fast, almost running, clutching him against her chest and she was talking to him.

I could hear his crying and her voice carrying in the night air. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you now. Everything’s going to be okay. We’re going home.”

Something inside me snapped. That was my son.

She was calling herself his mother. Zach caught up to her first.

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Give me my son!”

Carly’s face was wild. Her eyes were huge and darting everywhere.

And she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “He’s not yours,” she said.

“He was never yours. He’s mine. He’s always been mine.” “Give him to me right now!”

“No!” She pulled away from him clutching the baby tighter.

He started screaming. This high-pitched wail that cut through the night.

“You don’t understand. None of you understand. I’ve been waiting my whole life for him. He’s my second chance. He’s going to fix everything.”

Zach grabbed her arm again, harder this time. “Let go of my son!”

“He’s not your son!” Carly tried to twist away but Zach held on.

They were struggling now. Both of them pulling, the baby screaming between them, both trying to be so careful to not hurt him.

I finally reached them. Jordan was right behind me, still holding my arm, keeping me upright.

Every step hurt, but I didn’t care. I would crawl if I had to.

“Carly, stop!” I screamed.

“Give him back!” Carly looked at me and something in her face shifted.

The desperation melted into pure hatred. “You,” she spat.

“You don’t deserve him. You never wanted him. You can’t take care of him like I can. I’ve been preparing for him. I have a nursery. I have a name. I have everything ready. And you think you can just keep him from me?”

“I won’t let you. He’s my son. He’s my second chance.” She was screaming now, spit flying from her mouth.

“Do you know what it’s been like? 14 years of looking at her—” She jerked her head toward Jordan.

“—and being reminded every single day of what I didn’t get. 14 years of watching everyone else have what I deserved. And then you, my own sister, you get pregnant by accident and it’s a boy and you don’t even appreciate it!”

I lunged for her. I didn’t think about it; I just moved.

I grabbed at the baby trying to pull him from her arms. She held on tight, yanking him back, and for a horrible moment we were both pulling on him.

My son screaming between us. “Let go!” Carly shrieked.

“He’s mine!” Jordan jumped in.