My mother kicked me out of the house the very night she found out I was pregnant. Five years went by and she never contacted me, nor had she ever seen her grandchild. Then, after meeting the baby’s father, she wanted to come back into my life.

She said family should forgive. The neighbors had told her about the Mercedes in my driveway, the Swiss plates, and the delivery trucks from high-end stores. She had done her research.

She had found out exactly who Alessandro was and what his family was worth. She wanted to be part of Janna’s life now that Janna came with a trust fund and a future that looked expensive. I let her in.

I let her talk. She went on about second chances, about how young I had been, about how she had only wanted what was best for me. Then she saw a picture of Janna with Alessandro’s family at their Swiss estate, and something changed in her eyes.

“We should plan her sixth birthday together,” she said. “Maybe in Switzerland. I’ve always wanted to see Geneva.”

That was when Alessandro walked in from the kitchen.

He had heard everything. My mother practically glowed when she saw him. She extended her hand and started talking about her precious granddaughter like she had been there from the beginning.