My husband missed the birth of our triplets because he was at a hotel with another woman.

One day at a time sounded possible. An entire marriage did not. Back in my room, my phone buzzed repeatedly. Diane had posted in the family group.

*Three beautiful babies are here! Evan was with Lauren for the birth, but they're resting now, so please give them some privacy.*

Under it were fifteen heart emojis, congratulations from people I loved, and a message from Evan's aunt Caroline: *He must have driven all night. What a devoted father.*

Molly read over my shoulder. ""I'll tell them."" ""I will."" I typed slowly.

*Ada, June, and Theo are doing well and getting excellent care. Thank you for loving them already. Molly was with me for the births. Evan has not been to the hospital yet. I'm resting and won't be answering questions today.*

I pressed send before Diane could make me doubt the plain words. For ten minutes, there was silence. Then Aunt Caroline replied, *Thank you for telling us. Let us know what you need.*

Two other relatives sent similar notes. Diane called four times. ""You don't have to answer,"" Molly said. ""I know.""

That was a new feeling. For years, I'd answered Diane because refusing felt impolite. She selected the holiday menu, had opinions about the names on our baby registry, and once called a crib I liked ""a fashionable mistake."" I told myself she meant well. It was easier than arguing over every little thing.

Three missing car seats were not a little thing. Molly called the hospital social worker with me. The babies weren't ready for discharge, but we needed an actual plan. The social worker explained that the hospital could document our concern and help us find a car seat program if the seats weren't returned. She didn't treat Diane's threat as a problem I had caused.

""You can tell us who is allowed to visit you,"" she added. ""If you need privacy while you rest, let your nurse know."" I hadn't considered that I could ask for something as simple as a closed door. I had been worrying about whether Diane would be offended if I kept her out. Now I worried about why her feelings had taken up so much room in mine.

I gave Molly permission to receive updates if I was sleeping. I asked the nurse to check with me before allowing Diane into my room. Neither request kept her from being a grandmother. Both let me stop bracing every time footsteps paused outside.

I cried after the call, partly from relief. ""I'll get the seats,"" Molly said. ""Or new ones. That's a logistics problem. You don't have to bargain with her.""

I wanted to believe her. Evan and I had paid almost six hundred dollars for those three seats. I was on leave from my job as a public school librarian, and three babies would make every expense matter. Still, I would buy them again before I bought Diane's version of that morning.