He ripped it open, expecting—what? Divorce papers? A declaration of surrender? He scanned the first page, and I watched the blood drain from his face.

“These…” His voice cracked. “This can’t be real.”

“They’re real, Michael,” I said, my voice carrying so every ear at the table could hear. “They’re from the fertility specialist you visited six months ago. You didn’t know I found them. You didn’t know I spoke to the doctor myself. And according to these results, you are medically infertile.”

The silence that followed was electric. Gasps rippled across the table. My mother’s hand flew to her mouth. My uncle muttered something sharp under his breath.