Chapter 1: Just the Four of Us
Some days, I wonder if “working mom” is really just code for “human ATM with a side of guilt.” I’m Sherin—32, marketing manager, mother of two wild little boys, and, apparently, the go-to person in my husband’s family when someone wants a favor that involves time, energy… or money.

Last week was supposed to be simple. Sweet, even. A Mother’s Day dinner—just four people: me, my husband Lucas, and our mothers. A nice restaurant, heartfelt thanks, a night off from laundry and tantrums.

That was the plan.

But if you know my mother-in-law Charlize, you already know plans are merely suggestions for her to ignore.

It started the week before, during a rare calm moment at home.

Lucas was scrolling through his banking app on our creaky old couch while I folded an Everest of tiny laundry. “Are we sure about Bellini’s?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Their menu looks like it was priced by someone allergic to the concept of budgeting.”

“It’s Mother’s Day,” I replied. “We haven’t done anything fancy in years. We’ll cover dinner for both moms. It’ll be tight, but manageable.”
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