I looked inside. My aunt sat in the living room beside Julia, who was pregnant, while her proud husband lounged beside her. My parents hovered around them, eagerly handing them melon seeds and fruit, laughing and chatting as if entertaining honored guests.
Meanwhile, my husband, Nate Nolan, lay sprawled on a single-seater sofa, glued to his phone, idly shaking our daughter’s walker with his foot.
The moment she saw me, my daughter pouted and let out an aggrieved cry.
I ignored the pain in my swollen ankle, hurried forward, and scooped her into my arms, gently soothing her.
Looking at the warmth shared among the family—the laughter, the doting smiles—I felt an ache rise in my chest. My daughter and I were nothing more than outsiders in this household. No, perhaps even less than that.
Julia rested a hand on her slightly rounded belly and smirked. "Oh, look at her—just because she gave birth to a daughter, she treats her like a rare treasure. So delicate."
My aunt burst into laughter. "Pfft—"