I, Chloe, eight months pregnant and glowing in a simple white dress, tried to hold the smile. I’d survived years of her barbed compliments — “Oh, this casserole is… interesting,” or “Sophia always cooked such refined meals for Mark.” Every word coated in sweetness but meant to sting.

Mark, my husband, refused to see it. “She’s just traditional,” he’d whisper, brushing off every insult. “Don’t let it get to you, honey.”
But that day, even he couldn’t hide behind denial for long.

The Gift That Sparked the Fire

The party was reaching its peak when a delivery man appeared with a giant golden basket wrapped in shimmering plastic. It sparkled under the sun like something out of a commercial — designer baby clothes, silver rattles, monogrammed blankets. The card read: With love, Sophia.

Sophia.
Mark’s ex-girlfriend.
The one Diane never stopped comparing me to.