The July heat pressed against my skin like a physical weight as I stepped out of the air-conditioned car, my hand instinctively moving to cup the underside of my swollen belly. Nine months pregnant. My ankles were swollen to the size of grapefruits, my back throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, and yet my husband, Trevor, had insisted we attend his family’s annual reunion at the Reeves Estate in Connecticut.
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