At my sister’s engagement party, I was eight months pregnant. My mother held up my BMW keys and announced: “OUR GIFT TO THE REAL BRIDE.” My sister’s fiancee laughed: “YOU CAN UBER TO YOUR CHECKUPS.”

laughed.

Then Blake muttered, “Drama queen.”

I looked at my trembling hands and breathed through the pain. My mother’s expression flickered—not with guilt, only irritation that I had ruined her perfect scene.

“Sit down before you embarrass us more,” she hissed.

I didn’t sit.

I pulled out my phone.

Chloe scoffed. “Calling your husband to cry?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Ethan answered on the first ring. “Ava?”

My voice shook once. “They took my car keys. Mom pushed me. I hit the table. Something hurts.”

Silence.

Then his voice turned colder