But beneath the flawless surface, a quiet poison was seeping in. Its source was Diane, Mark’s mother. Dressed in a severe, cream-colored suit that stood in stark contrast to the party’s soft palette, she moved through the celebration with the air of a hawk circling its prey. She wasn’t celebrating; she was inspecting, judging, and finding everything wanting.

Chloe, radiant in a simple white sundress that hugged her baby bump, maintained a smile that was beginning to feel like a mask. She had endured Diane’s subtle warfare for years: the backhanded compliments about her cooking, the constant, glowing references to Mark’s ex-girlfriend, the thinly veiled criticisms of her career.