“No matter what color, it’s perfect. You’re perfect,” Adam murmured, and for one beautiful moment, the world contained only us.
The knife sliced through the fondant. Pink burst forth — not just a color, but a promise, a future, a life waiting to unfold. Cheers erupted from our gathered friends and family.
“I KNEW IT! OUR little girl! Oh my God, Adam, you’re going to have a daughter!”
She launched herself at my husband, arms wrapped around him with a possessiveness that made my blood run cold. Then she kissed him on the cheek. Not just a polite peck you might give your aunty either, but a deliberate, lingering smooch.
My world tilted on its axis.
As she pulled back and stared into his eyes, my brain finished processing her words.
Did she just say “our”?
The crowd went silent. I could hear my heartbeat, a primal drumming of rage and hurt as I watched my husband and his best friend celebrate our baby girl with a lingering embrace while I stood there, alone.
Something inside me — something I’d kept carefully contained for years — finally broke free.
Before rational thought could intervene, I’d scooped out a huge handful of the carefully decorated cake. Pink frosting coated my fingers like war paint as I smashed it directly into Emily’s face.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice a razor blade of controlled fury. “Did I interrupt your party? Because the way you’re acting, I thought you were the one having Adam’s baby.”
Adam looked alarmed. “Claire, calm down!”
But “calm” was nowhere in my vocabulary. I was a storm that had been brewing for years, finally unleashed.
Emily’s tears started — those performative, manipulative tears I’d witnessed a hundred times before. “I was just excited! I didn’t mean anything by it!”
My laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. “Excited? Hijacking my moment and kissing my husband is being excited? Sure, Emily. Let’s call it that since there are children here that shouldn’t hear what I’d like to call you.”
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