My 4-Year-Old Begged Me Not to Leave Her with My MIL – So I Went to Her House Without Warning

She puffed out her chest.

The following day, Simon brought out a plastic container near the end of dinner. “Dessert courtesy of Chef Monica. Brownies, today. She’s on a roll.”

I turned to Monica with a smile, but she was scowling at her peas. “I don’t want any.”

“You don’t want your brownies?”

She shrugged and slid off her chair. “I’m not hungry.”

“Monica? Are you okay?”

She was scowling at her peas.

She walked away without answering. Moments later, I heard her bedroom door shut.

I turned to Simon. “What was that about?”

“No idea. She was in a wonderful mood when I picked her up from Mom’s place. My mom said they had a blast.”

I looked at the brownies. They looked perfect — too perfect for a four-year-old.

***

The following morning, I helped Monica get ready like usual.

“Time to get ready for Grandma’s, Moni.” I held out her sneakers.

I helped Monica get ready like usual.

She looked down at her small, interlaced fingers. “Do I have to go today?”

I laughed. “Since when do you not want to see Grandma?”

She shrugged.

“Did something happen? Did you have a fight with a cookie?” I was trying to be funny. It didn’t work.

I took her to Brenda’s anyway. Monica’s heart wasn’t in it, but what else could I do?

The next week, the monsoon hit.

“Do I have to go today?”

“NO, MOM! DON’T TAKE ME THERE!”

Monica wasn’t just protesting; she was vibrating. I was trying to guide her arms into her denim jacket, but she was clinging to me like a limpet. Her breath was coming in quick, jagged bursts.

I dropped to my knees, so I was eye level with her. “Monica, look at me. What’s wrong? Why are you upset?”

“I just don’t want to go.”

Simon stepped into the hallway. “What’s going on? We’re going to be late.”

Her breath was coming in quick, jagged bursts.

“She doesn’t want to go to your mom’s,” I said, looking to him for some kind of “Dad Magic” solution.

He frowned. “That’s new. Moni, what’s up? Is it the broccoli Grandma makes you eat?”

She didn’t answer. She just buried her face in the crook of my neck.

“I think it’s just a phase,” I whispered to Simon over her head. “Separation anxiety. It happens at this age, right?”

He nodded, though he looked uncertain. “She’s been totally fine when I pick her up.”