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 afternoon dragged on with the agonizing slowness of a church sermon on a sweltering Sunday. I sat in a high-backed cushioned chair that Marlene had deliberately positioned at the head of the room like a miniature throne.

One by one, the guests approached. There were pastel onesies, organic wooden teething rings, soft swaddles, and tiny leather moccasins. I smiled until my facial muscles ached, offering heartfelt thanks to women who had known Levi since he was in diapers.

Yet, underneath the gentle buzz of chatter, an undercurrent of bizarre comments began to surface.

Aunt Clara, a woman of seventy-two with powdered cheeks and trembling hands, patted my knee as she handed me a gift bag. "It takes a very strong girl to carry on the sacred bloodline, dear. Benjamin was a saint of a man. We all cried when he passed. To have him reborn among us... well, it’s a miracle."

My fingers tightened around the tissue paper. "Thank you for the gift, Clara. But Levi and I—"

"Oh, I know, I know," Clara interrupted with a knowing nod. "Young people love their suspense! Keeping it a secret until Marlene’s big moment. Don't worry, my lips are sealed."

She winked and shuffled away toward the dessert table.

I whipped my head toward Camille, who was standing behind my chair refilling my glass with iced water. Camille’s face had gone rigid.

"Did you hear that?" I asked in a low whisper.

"Loud and clear," Camille replied, her eyes narrowing across the room where Marlene was currently huddling with three women from the altar guild. "She told them something. Jo, look at the table runner by the podium."

I shifted in my chair and looked past the pyramid of wrapped boxes toward the small mahogany lectern near the front window. Beside it stood an easel covered by a heavy velvet drape in royal navy blue. Next to the easel was a polished mahogany box tied with a gold satin ribbon.

Levi, who had been cornered by his second cousin near the patio doors, caught my eye. He saw the dread on my face and broke away immediately, striding over to my side.

"What is it?" he asked softly, crouching beside my chair.

"Levi, Clara just said something about your father being 'reborn' among us," I whispered, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs. "She said they were waiting for Marlene’s 'big moment.' Look at that easel."

Levi’s face darkened, the blood draining from his lips until they formed a stark white line. He stood up straight and looked over at his mother. Marlene was watching us from across the room, holding a champagne flute, her expression dripping with quiet triumph.

"She wouldn't dare," Levi muttered. "We told her no. In person, over the phone, and in writing. I told her four days ago."