The entryway opened to a transformed living space. Lavender floral arrangements adorned every surface. A professional photographer circulated through the crowd. In the corner, a bartender mixed mocktails and mimosas. A neon sign blazed on the far wall: “It’s a Girl!” in cursive pink letters.

“This is… wow,” I breathed. “Colette, this must have cost a fortune.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she cut me off, waving dismissively. “Most of it was donated. People have been so generous.”

Bennett’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he remained silent.