I was days away from my due date when I caught my husband dismantling our custom-built crib. “My sister needs it more, she’s having twins,” he grunted, loading it into his truck.

Her eyes narrowed instantly. “Don’t be selfish.”

I followed them barefoot onto the porch in slippers, sobbing, one hand supporting my stomach. “Evan, please. Please don’t do this.”

He shoved the final crib piece into the truck bed.

Patricia turned toward me, triumph glittering across her face. “You married into this family. Learn your place.”

Then she pushed me.