When I married Scott, I knew his best friend was a woman named Avery. They worked together in the health field — he was a food safety auditor, she was a nutritionist — and I had no problem with that. She was smart, confident, and at first, easy to like. We bonded over music, joked at parties, even grabbed coffee once. But when I got pregnant, something in her shifted — and I started to see her real intentions.

The day we announced the pregnancy, Avery was one of the first to text Scott. “Congratulations! You two are going to be amazing parents!” It seemed innocent enough. Then, the messages started. Daily texts to Scott filled with advice we hadn’t asked for: lists of “must-have” baby products, organic meal plans, articles about pregnancy diets.

At first, I brushed it off. “She’s overexcited,” I told Scott. “Ignore it.”

But she didn’t stop. Every time I posted a photo online — me eating sushi, sipping coffee, or even just smiling — she’d message Scott behind my back. “She shouldn’t be eating that.” “Caffeine isn’t safe.” “You need to be more careful.”

It was controlling and invasive. What made it worse was the tone — like she knew better, like she was the one having the baby.

One night, Scott showed me his phone. “Look at this,” he said, shaking his head. “Now she says you need to switch to gluten-free bread because it’s ‘better for brain development.’”

I exhaled hard. “She’s way out of line. You need to tell her to stop.”

He hesitated. “She means well.”

“Scott, she’s overstepping.”

Still, he didn’t confront her. And Avery didn’t get the hint.

When it came time to plan the baby shower, my mom and sister were already taking care of everything — small, warm, and intimate, just family and close friends. Then one afternoon, Avery texted me: “Hey Jean! I’d love to host your baby shower. I already have great ideas!”

I typed back politely: “Thank you, Avery, but my mom and sister are planning it.”

The next day, there was a knock on the door. Avery stood there with boxes of decorations, a clipboard, and that bright, fake smile. “Surprise! I brought everything for the baby shower!”

I blinked. “Avery, I told you—”

“Jean, trust me. I know how to make it perfect,” she interrupted, breezing past me into the dining room. “You’ll love it. I’ve already picked a menu — gluten-free, sugar-free cake, eco-friendly favors, calming music for the baby’s ‘vibrations’…”

She was rearranging furniture before I could even answer.

“Avery, please stop. My family is handling this,” I said firmly.

She looked up from the decorations and smiled that tight, patronizing smile. “Jean, I just want the best for you. You’ll thank me later.”

That was it — the final straw. I nodded slowly and said, “Alright. Let’s see what you come up with.” She grinned, thinking she’d won. But I had my own plan.

Over the next week, Avery kept texting me about her “vision.” I played along, all the while working quietly with my mom and sister to finish our real baby shower — at a small café downtown.

The day finally came. Avery spent the morning decorating my house, fussing over every detail. Through my security camera app, I could see her moving around like she owned the place. She really had gone all out — pastel streamers, floral arrangements, that ridiculous sugar-free cake.

But no one was coming.

Meanwhile, I was across town at the café, surrounded by my loved ones. The laughter, the warmth, the smell of real food — it was everything I wanted. My mom had tears in her eyes. My sister couldn’t stop taking pictures. I even had one of those Polaroid shots developed right there. Then I placed it in a box with a single cupcake and sent it to Avery by delivery.

I watched through the security feed as she opened the package. She looked down at the photo — me, smiling beside my family — and then at the cupcake. The note inside said: “We thought you’d prefer something gluten-free.”

Her face went red. She threw the cupcake into the trash and started pacing, her phone already in her hand. When it rang a few minutes later, I ignored it.

Later that night, Scott and I got home. The decorations were still up, untouched. The house smelled faintly of frosting and bitterness. Then came a loud knock.

Avery stood on the porch, shaking with anger. “How could you do this to me?” she yelled. “I spent days planning that shower, and you just… abandoned me?”

I crossed my arms. “You weren’t invited to host it, Avery. You ignored me, pushed your way in, and turned something personal into your own project. That’s not help. That’s control.”

She blinked, as if the word stung.

Scott stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Avery, you went too far. You’ve been texting me nonstop about what Jean should and shouldn’t do. It has to stop.”

Her eyes darted between us, panic creeping in. “You told her about the messages?”

“Of course,” he said. “We don’t keep secrets.”

Her expression twisted, and her voice cracked. “I thought… I thought it would work.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘work’?”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I thought if Scott followed my advice, you’d start arguing. I thought you’d fight and maybe… maybe he’d see I was the one who really cared about him.”

The air went heavy.

Scott looked stunned. “Avery, are you saying—”

“Yes,” she blurted. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I thought if I stayed close, you’d realize we belong together.”

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Scott’s face hardened. “Avery, I care about you as a friend, but that’s all it’s ever been. You need to move on. Jean is my wife. We’re starting a family. This needs to end.”

She tried to speak, but her voice broke. “Please, just give me a chance—”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’ve crossed every line.”

Her face crumpled. She turned, tears streaming, and stormed out. The sound of the door closing behind her was sharp and final.

I sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. Scott sat beside me, his hand warm over mine.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, feeling the tension drain out of me. “Yeah. I just can’t believe she thought she could come between us.”

He smiled softly. “She never could. I love you, Jean. You and the baby — that’s my whole world.”

I leaned against him, feeling the baby kick lightly under my hand. “Then that’s all that matters.”

A few months later, our daughter was born — healthy, perfect, and surrounded by love. Avery disappeared from our lives, and honestly, it was a relief.

Looking back, I’m almost grateful for what happened. It forced Scott and me to draw clear lines and protect what mattered most.

Sometimes people disguise obsession as friendship, control as care. The difference becomes clear only when you stand up for yourself. And when you do — when you refuse to let anyone else script your happiness — that’s when real peace begins.