I was 7 months pregnant at my brother’s engagement party when my dad handed my Mercedes keys to his fiancée like it was his gift to give. I demanded them back, but instead of

badly but proudly with pink frosting roses.

My Mercedes sat in the driveway.

Not because it mattered most.

Because it was still mine.

At one point, I stood near the porch while Clara smashed cake into her hair. Ethan came beside me, his shoulder fully healed, his smile tired and bright.

“You okay?” he asked.

I looked at the people laughing beneath the string continue reading …