The champagne tower at center stage came crashing down in a cascade of glass and liquid, shards flying in every direction.

"What's wrong with you, young lady? You can't even walk without slamming into me, and now you've knocked the whole thing over!" Mr. Finch, Frederick's business partner, barked at the culprit.

The woman across from him said nothing, her face a picture of helpless resignation.

Anyone with eyes could see that Mr. Finch's suit was worth a small fortune, and now it was drenched in champagne. The temperature in the room plummeted.

The commotion drew our attention. The moment Frederick's gaze locked onto the woman responsible, something shifted in him. I felt it in the way his hand released mine.

He was about to walk over when I accidentally stepped on the edge of a tablecloth. A row of glasses tipped and nearly cascaded onto me. Frederick's reflexes kicked in. He grabbed me and pulled me close, shielding my stomach.

Shards of glass sliced into my hand. Blood ran freely between my fingers. He didn't even glance at it.

"Libby, are you alright? Just rest here for a minute. My friend seems to have run into some trouble."

The crowd was thick, but through the gaps between onlookers, I spotted a pair of eyes I knew all too well.

My adoptive sister, Agatha. Dramatic as ever. She stood there in a scarlet dress, her expression dripping with contempt, utterly unbothered by the powerful man she'd just offended.

Frederick cut through the crowd and positioned himself in front of Mr. Finch, tucking Agatha behind him.

"Mr. Finch, it's such a wonderful evening. Don't let this ruin your mood. You mentioned earlier you wanted some of the wine I ordered? However many bottles you'd like, they're yours."

Frederick was all smiles and flattery. When Mr. Finch's expression finally softened, Frederick quickly had someone bring out a fresh suit.

Agatha stayed behind him the entire time, gazing up at him with naked adoration as he smoothed everything over for her.

After enough reassurances, the crisis passed. The crowd dispersed. Frederick finally let out a long breath.

In a quiet corner near the stage, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "Why are you back? Mr. Finch is one of our most important partners. How could you be so careless—"

Before he could finish, Agatha threw herself into his arms, unable to contain herself any longer. "It's been days. Didn't you miss me? I wanted to surprise you, so I didn't tell you I was coming."

His reaction wasn't what she'd expected. Frederick flinched, startled, then glanced around nervously. His eyes landed directly on me, standing right there, watching them both.

"When did you get back? It's been a while, Agatha." I walked toward them, keeping my voice even.

Agatha didn't let go of Frederick's arm. Her words, though, came laced with thorns. "It really has been a while. You still look terrible, sis."

"What's the matter? Hasn't your dear husband been taking good care of you?" She let out a derisive laugh, her eyes glittering with scorn. "Or maybe it's not you he's been taking care of."

I wasn't about to swallow that kind of provocation. I stepped forward, ready to put her in her place, but Frederick blocked my path.

"Libby, calm down. She's just joking around."

"Agatha, why don't you pour your sister a glass of water?" He gestured toward a cup nearby.

Frederick shot Agatha a look. She played obedient, picked up the cup, and brought it over with an apology.

I didn't want to accept anything from her. But Agatha kept pressing, and in the end, I took it.

My throat was parched. I drank it all in one gulp. Instantly, a searing burn tore through my mouth and spread down my throat. I collapsed to the floor, curling into myself, screaming. "My stomach—it hurts!" The sound drew a crowd.

The cup shattered on the ground. Agatha stumbled back, wide-eyed, turning helplessly toward Frederick. But beneath the panic, a flicker of satisfaction crossed her face.

Her hands trembled. She didn't dare come closer. Frederick swallowed hard, frozen for a beat, then scooped me into his arms and rushed for the hospital.

But it was already too late. Hours of induced vomiting and stomach pumping couldn't undo what the concentrated alcohol had done. My baby was gone.

I couldn't believe what the doctor was telling me. The child I had hoped for, prayed for, wished into existence—taken by a single glass of Agatha's "water."

When they wheeled me out of the emergency room, I had no strength left. My eyes were hollow. Tears had dried in streaks across my face.

Voices drifted down the corridor outside. Faint, but I caught every word.

"Frederick, what do we do now? I only gave it to her because you told me to. I didn't think it would actually make her miscarry!"

"How could you be so careless? That child was the only reason I've been putting up with this."

"Forget it. It's fine. We'll just have her get pregnant again."

"Relax. When the time comes, act sweet and beg her forgiveness. She can't really do anything to you. Besides, I'm the one who told you to hand her that drink."

Frederick's tone was light, almost bored, though a trace of regret flickered in his eyes.

My breathing turned ragged. My eyes went wide. Frederick had only ever cared about the baby. Not once had he worried about whether I lived or died. The child was gone, and the grief crushed down on my chest like a physical weight, suffocating and relentless.

After I was moved to a private room, the two of them finally appeared. Agatha stood beside the bed, clinging to Frederick's arm with a look of helpless distress. Rage boiled through me. I glared at them both with every ounce of hatred I had.

"I'm so sorry, sis. It was an accident. I grabbed the wrong one. It's all my fault. Whatever you need while you recover, I'll do it." Agatha's face was the portrait of remorse. She clutched my ice-cold hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I wrenched my hand free with what little strength I had and turned away. Watching these two wolves perform their little act made my stomach turn.

I lay in that hospital bed, hollowed out. Frederick made a few perfunctory arrangements and left.

"Agatha just got back. I need to get her settled in. Libby, you focus on resting."

As if the child he'd lost wasn't his. I couldn't detect a single trace of grief in him. The coldness of it left me speechless. I spent the next few days recovering alone.

But the sterile chill of the hospital was more than I could bear. I asked to go home to recuperate. Frederick said he needed to finish looking after Agatha first. I shook my head in quiet disappointment.

Early the next morning, Frederick and Agatha left ahead of me. By the time they arrived home, my parents were waiting at the door with open arms.

"Welcome home, Agatha! Mom and Dad have had dinner ready for hours!"

Frederick had even tidied himself up for the occasion, all to welcome Agatha back.

After I finished the discharge paperwork, I went home alone. No one noticed I'd arrived.

Ever since my parents adopted Agatha when I was ten, their love had slowly tilted toward her.

She was sweet and adorable, the kind of girl who made people want to protect her. But her love life was a disaster. After a string of breakups, cheating boyfriends, and ugly fights, my parents only grew more protective of their youngest daughter.

Then I met Frederick. Out of sheer jealousy, Agatha tried to sabotage the relationship. She faked a suicide attempt by swallowing pills, though the dose wasn't enough to do real damage. My parents caught her in time.

She blamed me. Said I'd driven her to it. After that, they grew even colder toward me, convinced I was some vicious, jealous creature.

After the wedding, my parents barely kept in touch. All their energy went to worrying about how Agatha was doing.

Even so, I had no choice but to come back. Frederick had arranged everything.

Now, sitting together again, the dining table was loaded with dish after dish. It had been so long since I'd tasted my parents' cooking. The first bite loosened something tight in my chest.

Frederick sat beside me, piling food onto my plate without pause. My parents clustered around Agatha on the other side of the table, asking about her life.

"How long are you staying this time, sweetie? Why don't you spend a few nights here with us?"

Mom's face was all warmth as she heaped food onto Agatha's plate. Agatha said she just wanted to stay and take care of me.

I didn't respond. I just watched my parents. Not a single word about my miscarriage. All they cared about was rolling out the red carpet for their precious younger daughter.

Agatha noticed Frederick serving me and let out a teasing little laugh. "My brother-in-law is so good to you, sis. Nobody does that for me except Mom and Dad."

I scoffed. "What are you, five?"

Agatha's face twisted. She rolled her eyes, then caught my parents looking and instantly rearranged her expression into something wounded and pitiful.

Frederick's chopsticks hovered, then slowly lowered back to the table. "She didn't mean anything by it," he said quietly. "Do you have to go after her like that?"

Dad took one look at Agatha's hurt expression and turned on me. "Your sister just got home! Would it kill you to be civil?"

He pivoted right back to soothing Agatha, then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with bowls of mango tapioca pudding to cheer her up.

Agatha's eyes darted sideways. She picked up a bowl and carried it to me with both hands. "Dad worked so hard on this. You should have the first taste, sis."

I turned my face away. I couldn't stand watching her perform. The smell of mango alone was enough to make my stomach lurch. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw every person at that table staring at me.

"Your sister is being so thoughtful. Just drink it, or you'll hurt her feelings." My parents closed in, their voices gentle but suffocating.

I was severely allergic to mango. When I was ten, I'd accidentally eaten some and spent a week in the hospital. But they'd forgotten all of that. The only thing they remembered was that Agatha's favorite dessert was mango tapioca pudding.

I stared at them, wide-eyed. No words came.

I turned to Frederick.

He frowned, giving me a look that said just do it. Don't make this awkward. "It's a dessert. How hard can it be? Does the whole family have to bend to your every whim?"

I said nothing. When it was clear I wasn't going to give in, Agatha kept up her sweet act and pushed some of the other dishes toward me.

Then she flashed a sly little grin and locked eyes with Frederick. A subtle nod passed between them. Frederick could smell the mango, but he picked up his chopsticks and started loading food onto my plate anyway.

"If you can't manage the dessert, at least eat something. It's your family's way of showing love. We're all together for once. Just humor them."

The passive aggression was impossible to miss. Before I could react, Frederick lifted a piece of food to my mouth and pushed it in.

The moment it hit my throat, I gagged and spat it out. Mango fibers. My skin flushed red almost instantly, hives blooming across my arms. My breathing turned shallow and ragged.

Just as I'd expected. An allergic reaction.

Agatha stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor in theatrical shock. My parents rushed to shield her, pulling her away so she wouldn't have to see my swollen, blotchy face. Frederick hurried over to comfort her too.

I staggered to the bathroom and shoved my fingers down my throat, retching until there was nothing left. I found the medication myself. It took thirty minutes before my body slowly returned to something close to normal.

I leaned against the wall, gasping. Once my heartbeat steadied, I decided to stay in the bathroom a while longer. I had no desire to rejoin that farce of a dinner.

After another fifteen minutes, I'd finally calmed down. I reached for the door handle and froze.

My mother's voice, just outside.

"You two already made her lose the baby last time. You need to watch how far you push things. Today you nearly killed her!"

A pause, then: "You just found out you're pregnant yourself. Think about the child in your belly and show some restraint."

Rage detonated inside my chest. My eyes went wide. Agatha was pregnant too? My parents already knew? They knew about my allergy and they'd still let Agatha pull this stunt?

My heart plummeted. The pain in my chest felt like something being carved out of me with a dull blade. I wiped my tears, forced air into my burning lungs, and threw the door open.

"What the hell did you just say, Mom?" I was shaking. "Agatha made me lose my baby on purpose? And you helped her do it?"

I screamed it. In my fury, I hurled the miscarriage report straight at her face, demanding to know why not one of them had asked me a single question about losing my child.

"Who is your real daughter here?" I roared.

"I already apologized, sis." Agatha's voice was soft, her expression the picture of innocence. "If you're angry, take it out on me. Don't yell at Mom."

The sight of that rehearsed, doe-eyed look made bile rise in my throat. I snatched the bowl of tapioca pudding and upended it over her head, then smashed the bowl on the floor.

She yelped and hopped around as the warm liquid ran down her scalp, screaming that I was insane. My mother joined in, calling me a lunatic, shooting me a look of pure disgust before dragging Agatha to the bathroom to clean up.

Frederick grabbed my arm and tried to hold me still. "Calm down. She didn't know you were allergic. You're fine now, so just let it go."

I shoved him off and called him exactly what he was: a fraud. An actor playing a role.

The commotion brought my father storming in. One look at the scene and he seized my arm and wrenched me aside. There was nothing in his eyes but contempt. "How dare you talk to your mother like that!"

The force of it sent my lower back crashing into the corner of the table. The old injury in my spine flared white-hot. I couldn't straighten up. I crumpled to the floor, writhing, and the three of them just stood there looking down at me like I was something foul they'd found on the bottom of a shoe.

In that moment, everything finally clicked into place. To them, I was nothing but a tool. A blood bank. The family love I'd spent my whole life reaching for had never existed.

I gathered every ounce of strength I had left and dragged myself upright. The pain was blinding, but I walked out without looking back.

Outside, snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes. I pulled out my phone and called Joseph Lawrence.

"I need a favor."

I wiped my tears dry and made my way to a run-down apartment building. Aunt Harriet had been waiting for me for a long time.

I had nothing left now. Nothing except the aunt who loved me most in this world. She was the only one who had ever truly cared for me, the only one who had ever stood up for me, from the time I was small.

She steadied me with trembling hands as I stepped through the door. "Libby, your hands are freezing. I already made you a cup of your favorite hot cocoa. Drink it while it's warm."

Aunt Harriet was the only family member who had ever been good to me. A car accident years ago had left her paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair ever since.

She warmed my icy hands in hers while I sipped the cocoa and poured out everything that had happened.

Her eyes glistened when she heard it all. "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. They don't cherish you, but I do."

I buried my face in her lap and let my whole body go slack. She was the only thing tying me to this place. Every good memory from my childhood had her in it.

She had never been able to stand the way my parents poured everything into Agatha, their precious biological daughter, and blamed me whenever there was a conflict for not yielding to my little sister.

All those countless times they left me behind and went out as a family of three, it was Aunt Harriet who came to pick me up and take me home. In my eyes, she was my real mother.

The thought made my nose sting. I couldn't hold back the quiet sobs. She thought I was cold, and she shifted to wrap her arms around me, pulling me close.

That night, for the first time in what felt like forever, I slept soundly. I didn't wake until the sun was high overhead, the smell of a home-cooked meal drifting into the room. Aunt Harriet had already prepared all my favorite dishes.

She was a wonderful cook, and I ate until I was full and content. She worried about my body after the miscarriage and wanted me to rest and build my strength back up.

"Libby, you stay here and rest. I'm going out to pick up some herbal supplements for you."

She insisted on going alone. All she wanted was for me to stay home and recover. I didn't feel right about it, but there was no arguing with her.

She had barely been gone a minute when I heard a scream.

"Help!"

I threw open the door and found her on the ground, crumpled beside her overturned wheelchair.

"Aunt Harriet!" I dropped to my knees and gathered her up, struggling to lift her. Then I saw the blood covering my hands. A scream tore out of me, and I called an ambulance immediately.

In the back of the ambulance, my breathing came in ragged gasps. She kept drifting in and out of consciousness, mumbling my name. My vision blurred with tears as I pressed close to her, gripping her hand so tight my knuckles went white, terrified that something terrible was happening.

I paced outside the examination room, grabbing every doctor who walked in or out, begging for an update.

The wait dragged on, unbearable. I needed air and turned toward the window, only to come face to face with Frederick and Agatha.

Frederick was at her side, one hand supporting her arm, the other holding a prenatal report.

"Everything looks great. All the markers are normal." He nodded with satisfaction. "This baby is going to be perfectly healthy."

Agatha's face glowed with smugness. "Of course it will. I'm not like my sister, that useless waste who couldn't even keep a baby alive."

I didn't want to see them. I turned to leave, but walked right into them.

"Oh, sis! What are you doing here?" Agatha's voice dripped with mock concern. "Another allergic reaction? Or did you lose another baby?"

Her eyes landed on the worn knitted cap in my hands, and she snatched it away.

"God, how tacky."

"That's my aunt's hat. Give it back." My glare could have cut glass. I ripped it out of her grip.

Aunt Harriet had never had any use for either of them. She only tolerated them for my sake. After her accident left her in a wheelchair, neither of them had visited her once.

Agatha and Frederick exchanged a glance, taking a long moment before they even realized who I was talking about.

"Oh, that crippled old woman?" A cruel smile played across Agatha's lips. "She's still alive?"

"Your aunt was never exactly pleasant, Libby." Frederick reached for my arm. "You should stop wasting your time on that dead weight and come home."

I wrenched free of his hand, spun around, and slapped Agatha across the face. Hard. Again. And again.

Everyone froze. The woman who had always been gentle and composed was now striking with everything she had.

"If you ever insult my aunt again, next time it won't be your face I go after."

Agatha shrieked that I'd lost my mind and lunged at me. I sidestepped at the last second and she flew past, slamming face-first into the wall.

"You bitch!" Agatha howled, blood streaming from her nose as she clutched her face.

Frederick looked between the two of us, both burning with fury, and realized nothing he said would make a difference. He grabbed Agatha and hauled her away.

I looked down at my stinging palm, and for the first time in a long time, something inside me unclenched.