“No, Peter, I offered to give up my quiet retirement, my privacy and my lovely home to save you two thousands of dollars every month,” Gretchen declared loudly.

“I am not going to spend the next year sleeping on a cramped living room couch while I look after twin babies and a demanding nine-year-old who isn’t even related to me by blood.”

“Austin doesn’t need you to take care of him, Gretchen, because he has two parents who chose him,” I said fiercely.

“He’s nine years old, Claire, which means somebody has to drive him to baseball, pack his lunches, help with his homework and wash his clothes every single day,” Gretchen sneered.

“Yes, exactly, he’s nine years old, and that’s exactly why he belongs in his own home with his mom and dad instead of being tossed aside like an unwanted bill,” I said, moving between her and the nursery door.