“Look what you made me do!” Vanessa shrieked above me, her face contorted with a grotesque, triumphant rage. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t stolen him!”

My mother-in-law, Pamela, stood near the refrigerator with her arms crossed. She wasn’t horrified. She wasn’t rushing to help. The smile on her face made my stomach turn—a cold, satisfied curve of the lips that chilled me more than the pain.

“Maybe now,” Pamela said, her voice dripping with venom, “you’ll understand that you don’t belong in this family.”

I tried to speak, but only a strangled gasp escaped my lips. The pain was overwhelming, a tearing sensation unlike anything I’d experienced during the pregnancy. My hands pressed against my belly, desperately trying to hold myself together, to protect the fragile life inside me. When I pulled them away, my palms were slick with bright red blood.