Before Tommy, I gritted my teeth and dealt with it. But my son was a year old now, and they still had the audacity to squeeze in.

I'd told Lambert countless times to suggest Bernice take the train. It was faster. Safer.

But every single time, they either "couldn't get tickets" or "missed the train," and somehow the solution was always the same: cram into our car.

Bernice hurried over, already complaining. "Astrid Sullivan, you guys are so slow. I've been standing here forever. My feet are killing me."

She rapped on the window. "Open up, Lambert. Let us in."

I swallowed my anger and kept my voice level. "Bernice, there's no room. At most we can fit one adult and one child. Anything more and we're breaking the law."

Bernice waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. The toll booths are all automated now. Tommy's tiny. Nobody's going to check."

In her mind, my one-year-old son was the excess passenger.

"Just take Tommy's car seat out. You hold him in the front. Morton, Daisy, and I will squeeze into the back. It'll be fine."

I shut that down immediately. "Absolutely not. Tommy is one year old. He needs that safety seat. It's the only thing protecting him in a crash. It stays."

"God, Astrid, you're just lazy. Babies get held all the time. Why does he need a whole seat to himself?"

She tilted her head, saccharine and sharp. "If you don't want to hold him, I'll hold him for you. Happy now?"

Bernice had always been like this. Twist the facts, play the victim, steamroll anyone in her way.

I wasn't going to waste my breath arguing. I kept it simple and immovable.

"The car seat stays. Period. Anyone who touches it answers to me."

Lambert unlocked the doors. His voice carried that familiar edge of reproach. "Astrid, could you try having a heart for once?"

"That's my baby sister out there. She's got a five-year-old with her. You want me to abandon them on the side of the road? What am I supposed to tell my parents?"

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

"They can take a cab. I'll pay for it. That's still better than ripping out my son's car seat and cramming too many people in here!"

Bernice let out a mocking little laugh.

"Oh, I know you're generous, Astrid. But isn't that a bit of a waste?"

She tilted her head. "Morton Fleming can drive. Let him be your free chauffeur for the ride back. Problem solved, right?"