I thought my six-month marriage to Scott was built on solid ground. We had dated for two years before tying the knot, and during that time, I had gotten to know his six-year-old son, Ben.

The boy was sweet and shy, with his father's blonde hair and a smile that could melt ice. His mother Patricia seemed fine with me then. She would even chat with me during drop-offs, asking about my job as a high school teacher.

"You're so good with Ben," she had said once, watching him show me his latest Lego creation. "It's nice that he has another positive influence in his life."

That pleasantry changed after the wedding. I saw less and less of her, and months later, Scott dropped a bomb on me.

It was a quiet spring Tuesday evening, and we were both busy around the kitchen. I was making dinner and looking at the lovely rain outside through the window.

He was trying to fix one of the cabinet handles that had snapped off the day earlier.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat and I turned my head, raising my eyebrows.

"Honey, I think it would be better if you went to your parents' on weekends," Scott began, still focused on the cabinet.

I blinked. "I'm sorry. What? Why?"

He sighed and straightened, fidgeting with the handle on his hands. "Patricia doesn't want Ben around you anymore. She says it'll confuse him. If she finds out you're here when Ben visits, she'll make things difficult. I just want peace."

I dropped the cutting knife and grabbed a kitchen towel to clean my hands.

"I don't understand," I started. "Ben and I get along great. He loved the science experiments we did last weekend. Remember how excited he was when we made that volcano? He learned so much. Plus, he loves my cooking."

"I know, I know," Scott placed the handle on the counter and ran his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. "It's just… she says it's different because we’re married now, and she doesn't want Ben to think you're his mother too."

"I'm his stepmother, so…"

"I know. It's ridiculous. But it's temporary until Patricia calms down. Please? You know how she can be when she doesn't get her way. She's threatening to reduce my time with Ben."

"So your solution is to kick your wife out of her own house every weekend?" I frowned, putting the kitchen towel back in its place. "Scott, this is insane."

"Not kick out," he backpedaled. "Just... take a little break on weekends. Visit your parents. They'd love to see you more, right?"

It felt wrong, but I didn't want to be the reason Scott lost time with his son. I felt forced to agree.

So that Friday, I packed my overnight bag and drove to my parents' house 20 minutes away, past familiar neighborhoods and the park where Scott had proposed.

Mom opened the door and immediately, her forehead creased with concern. "Marilyn? What are you doing here? What's going on?"

"Sorry for not calling before. I'm just visiting for the weekend," I said, forcing a smile as I made my way inside. "I thought I should spend some quality time with my favorite parents."

She let me in without a word, although I could tell she didn't believe me. I was glad she let it go that night, but on Saturday morning, over breakfast, she asked me for the truth.

I had to tell her what Scott requested.

"Why are YOU the one leaving? It's your house," she said while buttering her toast with forced, angry movements. "When I was your age, Henry would never have asked me to leave our home. Not for anyone."

"It's just temporary," I lied, pushing my eggs around the plate. "Patricia's going through some things. It's easier this way."

"Easier for whom?" Mom's voice was gentle but firm. "Honey, something about this doesn't feel right."