Three hours after I gave birth without my husband beside me, my mother texted: “Your sister’s kids expect new phones for their birthday. Send $2,000.”

My neighbor Leah drove me through the rain while I gripped the door handle and tried not to scream.

Eight hours later, I was holding a six-pound baby girl named Clara against my chest.

There was no husband beside the bed.

No mother.

No sister.

Just a nurse adjusting my blanket and my phone glowing on the tray table.

Mom: “Brenda picked out the phones. Four of them come to about $2,000.”

Mom: “The kids have had a hard year.”

Mom: “Do not embarrass your sister by making her ask twice.”

I stared at the messages while Clara slept beneath my chin.

I had paid Brenda’s overdue electric bill two months earlier.

Before that, her transmission.

Before that, school clothes for all three children.

My mother always called it helping family.