The weekly dinners at my parents’ house had become a comforting routine. Mom would cook her famous pot roast, Dad would pour the wine, and we’d talk about everything and nothing. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had their full attention.

“Karen, tell us more about that new project you’re working on,” Dad would say, actually interested in my work for once.

“The marketing campaign’s going well,” I’d share, savoring these moments of connection. “My boss thinks it might bring in several new clients.”

But everything shifted the night Sarah joined us for dinner. My younger sister walked in seven months pregnant, her presence immediately commanding the room like it always had. She’d been living in a rented apartment across town, and I hadn’t seen her since James’s funeral.

“Sarah, sweetie, sit here,” Mom fussed, practically pushing me aside to make room for her favorite daughter. “Do you need another pillow? Are your feet swollen?”