My mother-in-law announced our unborn son’s name to forty guests after we had told her twice we wouldn’t use it. When I handed back her embroidered blanket, she said my mother would be ashamed of me. My mother had been dead six years—and suddenly everyone expected me to apologize for saying no...

The Riverview Country Club smelled aggressively of polished mahogany, floor wax, and exorbitant floral arrangements. It was the kind of place where voices were kept at a hushed, cultivated murmur, and old money masked decades of quiet cruelty.

Levi held my hand as we walked through the double brass doors of the Oak Room. His grip was warm, but the pulse in his wrist fluttered against my palm. He was on edge, just as I was.

"Joanna! Levi!"

My sister Camille materialized from near the mimosa bar, clutching a club soda with a lime wedge. Her sharp, dark eyes swept over me in an instant, cataloging my pale cheeks, my posture, and the seven-month swell beneath my sage dress. She immediately pulled me into an embrace that smelled comfortably of cedar and rain.

"You look gorgeous, Jo," she whispered fiercely in my ear. "Breathe. I’m right here. If the dragon breathes fire, I brought an extinguisher."

"Thanks, Milly," I murmured, resting my chin on her shoulder for just two seconds of sanctuary.

Across the room, standing beside a three-tiered almond cake draped in cream-colored fondant, was Marlene.

My mother-in-law was a petite woman, perfectly coiffed in a lavender bouclé suit that made her look like a Southern senator’s wife. Her pearl necklace was double-stranded, resting against a throat held high with perpetual self-righteousness. Surrounding her were thirty or forty women—her bridge circle, several distant cousins Levi hadn't spoken to since middle school, and prominent church matriarchs who lived for gossip disguised as prayer requests.

When Marlene spotted us, her lips parted into a dazzling, practiced smile that didn't reach her pale gray eyes.

"Oh, look! The guests of honor have finally graced us!" she announced, her voice chiming clear across the room. Several heads turned, smiles plastering across faces in synchronized perfection.

Levi stepped forward, keeping his body angled slightly in front of mine. "Mom. You went overboard with the decorations."

"Nonsense, sweetheart," Marlene said, gliding over and kissing Levi’s cheek before turning to me with an assessing glance. "Nothing is too good for the arrival of my first grandchild. You’re looking... very full, Joanna. The swelling in your ankles must be dreadful."

"I feel fine, Marlene," I said evenly. "Thank you for putting this together."

"Well, family duty is family duty," she said, tapping my wrist with two manicured fingers. "I have a very special program planned for today. Something truly historic for our family. You just sit down, rest your feet, and let me steer the ship."

Levi narrowed his eyes. "Mom, what program? We told you—no games, no big theatrics. Just cake, gifts, and mingling."

Marlene offered a light, tinkling laugh that sounded like tiny shards of glass bouncing off marble. "Oh, don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Levi. A mother knows what a celebration needs. Now, go say hello to Aunt Clara before she starts complaining about her hip."

As Marlene turned to usher two church acquaintances toward the gift table, Camille leaned in close to Levi and me.

"She has that look," Camille muttered under her breath. "The look our eighth-grade principal had right before she canceled spring break."