Claire has been my husband’s close female friend for years. They met at work in the tech industry and immediately connected. When I first met her, we actually got along well—our shared taste in music and similar careers made it easy for her to fit into our group.
Back then, she was the kind of friend who would join us for trivia nights or Friday happy hours. She had a dry sense of humor, and I remember thinking, “It’s great that my husband has such a well-rounded group of friends.” If someone had told me then that she would become the cause of drama during one of the most important times of my life, I would have laughed it off. But then I got pregnant, and everything changed.
After sharing the news with close family, we posted the pregnancy announcement online. The messages poured in—friends and family excited and supportive, guessing whether the baby would look more like me or my husband. Claire’s response seemed harmless at first. She sent him a congratulatory message, asked him to pass on her best wishes to me, and included a string of heart emojis. I didn’t think much of it.
At first, her messages were occasional: “Has she tried ginger tea for nausea?” “No sushi, not even cooked rolls.” “Avoid deli meat—Listeria is serious.” Some of it was helpful, but her tone felt more like she was policing the pregnancy. Soon, the texts increased to several a day, filled with articles, lists, and unsolicited advice. “She should switch to almond milk.” “Don’t let her sleep on her back after 20 weeks.”
It became exhausting. My husband noticed I was getting irritated. One evening, he handed me his phone and said, “I don’t even know how to respond anymore.” I scrolled through the messages and felt my jaw tighten. She wasn’t just giving advice—she was correcting things she assumed I was doing wrong. “Tell her to cut back on pasta—too many carbs.” “Make sure she doesn’t lift anything heavier than a grocery bag.”
I told my husband the easiest solution: “Just ignore her.” But Claire didn’t seem like the kind of person who could be ignored.
When I sent out the baby shower invitations, Claire messaged me directly for the first time in weeks: “So, when do you want me to start planning it?”
I was taken aback. My mom and sister had already been organizing the shower for months—it was their gift to me, their way of celebrating this new chapter. So I politely replied, “Thanks, but my mom and sister are hosting. Everything’s already arranged.”
Claire quickly responded, “Oh, that’s sweet, but I have experience with these things. You’ll want someone with taste to make sure it’s done right. I’ll take care of the main setup—you can still let them help.”
A chill ran through me. Her tone felt off—like she thought my family’s efforts weren’t enough, like she was entitled to take control.
I responded firmly, “It’s already planned, and I’m happy with what they’re doing. But thank you.”
She didn’t reply that night. Instead, the next afternoon, she showed up at our door carrying two large shopping bags. Inside were pastel streamers, gold balloons spelling out “BABY,” and a binder labeled “Claire’s Baby Shower Ideas.”
She dropped everything on the table and began flipping through the pages like she was presenting a wedding portfolio. “I’ve planned a healthier menu—no processed sugar, no fried foods. The decorations your mom chose seemed a bit outdated, so I ordered some fresh ones. And instead of games like ‘Guess the Baby Food,’ I thought we could do something more elegant.”
I looked at her, stunned. “Claire, no. My family has this all taken care of.”
She tilted her head with a smile, but it was the kind of smile that felt more like a sales pitch than a friendly gesture. “Don’t you want everything to be perfect?”Read More Below
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