On a typical Tuesday evening, I walked into my in-laws’ house to find my children with completely empty plates, while their nieces and nephews were eating their third helping of lasagna from a “real” dinner set. Eighteen minutes later, I quietly decided I’d had enough of being their personal ATM, and that something in this family was about to go wrong in a way no one expected.

“I think I’ll put this on the plates now,” I said, reaching for the ladle.

“Leah, they’re doing great, really,” Addison said, her voice sharpening. “The kids don’t need a full meal every time they’re here. They’ve already eaten.”

“But Harper and Liam clearly need full meals,” I remarked quietly, looking at the overflowing plates on the dining room table. “Looks like they need a second helping and a third helping.”

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of the television in the background. Even Roger chewed more slowly, sensing the tension.

“My daughter’s children have different dietary needs,” Addison said, and the casualness with which she said it took my breath away. “Her children can wait for leftovers if there isn’t enough for everyone. That’s what happens in patchwork families.”

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