The room went silent. Utterly, completely silent. Thirty-seven people stopped breathing at once.

My mother’s face flushed. “Marcus, she’s carrying your—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes at the assembled crowd as if they were co-conspirators in his suffering. “She’s been unbearable since getting pregnant. Constantly complaining about every little thing.”

The burp cloths slipped from my numb fingers. The crinkle of tissue paper sounded like a gunshot in the sudden vacuum of sound. Unbearable. The word hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath more effectively than any wave of nausea.