The Past's Unwanted Return

rah moving around the kitchen. The clinking of a glass, the running of the faucet. Normal, everyday sounds th

tic, as if I were wading through thick water. I saw her at the kitchen island, humming to

re on a call. My yoga class got

wondered how many other lies she had told me over the yea

I wanted to do was go and celebrate, to stand by her side and pretend that our life wasn' t a complete fraud. But a plan wa

gratulating her, touching her arm, remarking on how she was "glowing." I stood beside her, a silent, smiling prop. I felt a profound sense of detachment, as if I were wa

ful daughter Sarah, and my wonderful son-in-law Ethan. We are

eamed, squeezing my hand tightly. She

one is so ha

urn. She thought she had won. She thought she had succe

o the dance floor. As we swayed to a sl

she murmured. "Thank you f

crowd, my heart pounding with a grim purpose. I was letting her have this moment, letting her build her per

lies together-my parents, her parents.

band," she announced to the small circle. "A

d joy. Her parents were practically vibrating with exci

ied with a silver ribbon. It was light. I knew

urged, her voice breat

d. There, nestled on a bed of white satin, was the pregnancy

oud enough for our parents to

from our parents. They hugged us, they hug

holding the small box. I looked from the plastic stick

" I

like a shard of glass. Everyone fell silent.

than?" she asked, he

er see the cold fury in my eyes for

We' re not ha

tic clatter. Then, I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there in the