Dinner continued in tense quiet, the food untouched. The roasted lamb grew cold, the wine sat undisturbed in its glasses. Only the faint hum of the garden lights filled the air.

Michael leaned back, exuding confidence, his arm casually around Sofia’s shoulders. “We’re expecting in two months,” he declared boldly, his gaze sweeping the table. “A fresh start—for us.”

I offered a faint smile, not of warmth, but of resolve. “A fresh start,” I echoed softly, as if raising a glass.

Sofia shifted, her hand resting on her belly. She glowed, yes, but unease flickered in her eyes. She sensed the heavy silence of my family pressing upon her.

Michael, however, reveled in it. He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on mine. “Olivia, it’s time to stop pretending. Sofia is carrying my child. It’s time everyone embraced that.”

I drew a steady breath, reached beneath my napkin, and retrieved the envelope. My hand was steady. Calmly, I set it before him.

“What’s this?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.