We played all the traditional baby-shower games—measuring Sarah’s belly with string, guessing the baby’s birth date, and that horrible melted-chocolate-bar-in-diaper game. I won the belly-measuring contest, which seemed to irritate Sarah more than it should have. Throughout it all, she kept shooting these strange looks my way, like she was waiting for something.
After the gifts were opened—Sarah cooing over each onesie and baby gadget with theatrical enthusiasm—she reached my presents. She held up the blanket, running her fingers over the intricate pattern. Then she clinked her glass for attention. The room fell silent, and my heart started racing for no reason I could name. The air felt suddenly thick, hard to breathe.
“I want to thank everyone for coming today,” she began, one hand resting on her swollen belly. “But there’s something else I need to share. I think it’s time everyone knew who the father of my baby is.”
My heart started pounding. Sarah’s eyes locked onto mine, and in that moment I knew. I knew before the words left her mouth—but that didn’t lessen the impact.
“The father,” she said, her voice ringing through the suddenly silent room, “is James Wilson. Karen’s late husband.”
The world tilted sideways. Through the roaring in my ears, I could hear gasps and whispers from the guests. Aunt Margaret’s hand flew to her mouth; Sarah’s college friends huddled closer together, whispering frantically. But what hit me hardest was the lack of surprise on my parents’ faces. They had known all along.
Before I could process what was happening, Sarah was already speaking again, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she turned to face me directly.
“As James’s baby is his only heir, I’m entitled to half of everything he left you, Karen. The house, the apartment, the money—my child deserves their father’s inheritance.”
The room spun. I gripped the back of a chair to steady myself. But then Mom and Dad stepped forward, flanking Sarah like bodyguards.
“Karen,” Dad said, using his stern business voice, “you need to do the right thing here. Your nephew deserves his father’s legacy.”
I found my voice, though it came out as a rasp. “You’re lying. All of you are lying. James would never—”
“Oh no?” Sarah’s smile turned cruel as she pulled out her phone. “Then how do you explain these?”