My MIL Always Gave My Son the Worst Gifts Because He ‘Wasn’t Blood’ — Until He Taught Her a Lesson

I still didn’t trust Diane — not yet.

“And she asked about my piano recital,” he added, like he still couldn’t believe it.

Later that night, the three of us sat on the front steps, sharing a pint of chocolate chip ice cream straight from the container. Skye’s legs were draped over Zach’s lap. I rested my head on his shoulder.

I still didn’t trust Diane — not yet.

“You know,” Zach said, nudging Skye’s knee, “son, no matter how many gifts she gives or doesn’t give you…

it doesn’t change anything between us.”

“No. Because I’m your real dad. And I chose you.

That kind of bond — son, that runs deeper than blood.”

I reached over and tucked a stray curl behind Skye’s ear.

“You’re our heart, baby. You always have been.”

He leaned into us, melting like ice cream on the porch rail.

“I know,” he said. “Don’t get so soppy.”

During Christmas that year, a silver box with “Skye” written in gold sat under Diane’s tree.

Continue reading…