Vanessa, my sister—who treated perfection like a religion—stepped into the center of the room, tapping a silver spoon against a crystal flute. “Attention, everyone!” she chirped, her smile bright but her eyes as cold as a frozen lake. “Before the gifts, I have a surprise. A sneak peek into the future of the Winthrop legacy.”

My heart hammered against my ribs as she pulled a 4D ultrasound photo from her pocket—the one I’d hidden in my purse. “Look!” Vanessa shouted, thrusting the image upward like a trophy. “It turns out Rachel’s little Harper isn’t quite as ‘perfect’ as the rest of us. The b;ab;y is dis;ab;led!”

A deafening silence swallowed the room. “Vanessa, give it back,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “That’s private!” But my mother, Diane, merely sipped her Chardonnay and sighed, “Honestly, Rachel, only an idiot would keep trash like that. It’s a burden this family didn’t ask for.”

In that moment, the compliant version of Rachel d;;ie;d. I shoved my chair back, my voice low and dangerous: “What did you just say?”