My mother-in-law blurted, “This baby isn’t ours.” The room froze. My husband was stunned, I just smiled—then the doctor entered with the results: “There’s something you need to know.”

But I smiled. Not the weary, blissful smile of a new mother. It was sharpened by years of cold dinners and sly insults. It was the smile that says, I see through you, and the charade ends now.

Because what Vivien didn’t realize—what nobody in the room understood—was that the truth was already unfolding, and she would never be ready for it.

The door clicked. A physician entered, folder in hand. “Actually,” he said, eyes sweeping across the tense tableau, “there is something important you must all know.”