The moment the pink confetti exploded over our backyard, my husband shouted, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? ANOTHER GIRL?”

I froze on the carpet, the breath crushed from my lungs. Outside, the sliding glass door still reflected the scattered pink debris on our lawn, but inside, the air had turned arctic.

“What did you say, Ella?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle despite the roaring panic in my chest.

Ella kept her head down, her fingers picking nervously at the hem of her cotton shorts. “Grandma Carol took me to the diner three weeks ago. Just me. She bought me a milkshake and said Daddy’s heart was breaking because he didn’t have a real heir. She told me that if the balloon had pink confetti today, I had to be a brave big sister, because you and Daddy would have to try one more time right away. She said five was the magic number for the Walsh family.”

Rosie looked up from her tears, her seven-year-old eyes wide. “And Daddy told me yesterday that if it was a brother, he would teach him how to drive the forklift at the warehouse. When I asked if he could teach me, he said girls have softer hands for other things.”

A sickening clarity settled over me. While I had been managing doctor visits, swollen ankles, and scar tissue warnings, my husband and his mother had been poisoning my daughters’ minds with conditional love. They had prepared my children to treat this unborn baby as a disappointment before she had even taken her first breath.

The patio door slid open with a violent rattle. Nathan stepped inside, his boots tracking trampled pink paper across the hardwood. He smelled of sweat and suppressed rage.

“Your sister took off,” he snapped, ignoring the girls entirely. “Did you really have to let Paige look at me like I was a monster? I had thirty of my subcontractors out there, Erin. Thirty men who work for my father and me. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to stand in front of your crew and pop another pink balloon?”

I rose slowly from the rug, placing my body between Nathan and our daughters. My belly felt tight, the contractions of stress rippling across my skin.

“Humiliating?” I whispered. “You kicked a table in front of your children, Nathan. You let your mother scream at me, and your father threw a gift on the dirt. And you haven't even looked at Ella.”

Nathan scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t make this about Ella. She knows I love her. But a man wants a son to carry his name. That’s nature. My dad built Walsh Building Supply from nothing. Who takes that over now? Four girls who get married and change their names?”

Ella flinched behind me. That small, involuntary movement shattered whatever remained of my tolerance.

“Their names are Walsh right now,” I said, my voice dead and cold. “And as long as I draw breath, you will never make them feel like second-class citizens in their own home again. Go stay at your parents' house tonight, Nathan.”

Nathan stared at me in disbelief, then gave a harsh, dismissive laugh. “This is my house. You’re being hysterical because of the hormones. We’ll talk when you calm down.”