I am Samantha Parker, 32 years old, and for as long as I can remember, my younger sister Jessica has always taken what was mine. My toys as children, my clothes as teenagers. My spotlight at every family gathering. But nothing prepared me for what she took at my birthday dinner last month. As she stood there, announcing her pregnancy with my husband Kyle. I felt my world cracking beneath me. What neither of them knew was that I had been hiding something too, something that would shatter their little fantasy forever.

Growing up as Jessica’s older sister was like living in a perpetual shadow. From the moment she was born when I was four, my parents treated her like their golden child. Jessica had the prettier dresses, the better birthday parties, and somehow always got the last piece of cake.

It wasn’t that my parents didn’t love me, they just loved her more visibly. More enthusiastically. Look how artistic Jessica is.

My mother would gush as my sister scribbled with crayons, while my straight-A report cards were met with simple nods and, That’s nice, Sam. My father coached Jessica’s softball team, but was always too busy for my debate competitions. These small rejections accumulated over the years.

Building a wall of resentment, I tried desperately not to acknowledge. Jessica developed a pattern early on. Whatever I had, she wanted.

My favorite teddy bear mysteriously ended up in her room. The sweater I saved my allowance for would disappear from my closet and reappear on her. When I was chosen for the lead in the school play, Jessica suddenly developed an interest in drama and convinced my parents to enroll her in expensive acting classes.

Why can’t you just share with your little sister? became the family mantra. Always directed at me, never at her. So I learned to hold tightly to the things that mattered most, to guard my heart and my dreams with vigilance.

College was my escape. I moved three states away to attend Northwestern University, far enough that Jessica couldn’t follow. Those four years were transformative.

Without Jessica’s shadow, I bloomed. I made genuine friends who valued me for me. I discovered my passion for marketing and communications.

And in my junior year, I met Kyle. Kyle Henderson walked into my advanced marketing seminar with tousled brown hair and the most genuine smile I’d ever seen. He dropped his coffee the first time we spoke, stammering an apology as the liquid splashed across my notes.

Instead of being annoyed, I found his nervousness endearing. He offered to buy me dinner to make up for it, and I said yes. That dinner turned into breakfast the next morning, talking until the sun came up about our dreams, our families, our favorite books.

I’ve never met anyone who gets me like you do. He told me that night, and for once, I felt truly seen. Our relationship flourished.

Kyle was everything I’d dreamed of—attentive, kind, ambitious, but not at the expense of others. We graduated together, moved to Chicago, and built our careers side by side. When he proposed after two years, on the shores of Lake Michigan at sunrise, I felt like I’d finally found my happily ever after.

Then came the wedding planning, and with it, the inevitable return of Jessica into my life. She’d graduated from college by then and was working as a pharmaceutical sales rep, a job that seemed to involve more flirting than actual sales. When I called to tell her about my engagement, her response was lukewarm at best.

Well, I guess congratulations. Is he rich? Those were her first words, not, I’m happy for you or you deserve this. Despite my reservations, I asked Jessica to be my maid of honor.

My mother insisted, saying, it would break her heart if you didn’t. Looking back, I should have recognized the warning signs at my bridal shower when Jessica wore white, or at the rehearsal dinner when she gave a toast that was more about her than me. But I was determined to rise above it, to not let old wounds spoil my happiness.

The wedding itself was beautiful despite Jessica’s attempts to center herself, showing up late for photos. Dramatically crying louder than my mother during the ceremony, flirting with Kyle’s groomsmen during the reception. Kyle noticed her behavior and squeezed my hand reassuringly.

She’s just jealous because you’re so incredible, he whispered, and I believed him. The first two years of our marriage were blissful. We bought a small house in the suburbs, advanced in our careers, and began talking about starting a family.

Kyle and I agreed to wait until we were more established financially, though I suspected he was hesitant for other reasons he couldn’t articulate. Still, I respected his caution and focused on our relationship and careers. Then, about a year ago, something began to shift.

Kyle started working later, his phone perpetually facedown on tables. He became protective of his passwords, jumping whenever I came near while he was texting. The intimacy between us dwindled until it felt like we were roommates rather than lovers.

It’s just stress from the new promotion, he’d say whenever I tried to discuss the distance between us. Once this project is over, things will go back to normal. But they never did.

Instead, the gap widened. I found myself checking his phone bill, noting frequent calls to a number I didn’t recognize. I smelled unfamiliar perfume on his shirts, not mine, not anything I owned.

Once, I found a long blonde hair on his jacket. Jessica had long blonde hair. I told myself I was being paranoid, that my childhood insecurities were clouding my judgment.

After all, Jessica lived in the same city, but we rarely saw her except at family gatherings. Why would Kyle be involved with her? As my 32nd birthday approached, I hoped it might be a turning point. Kyle had been especially distant, but he promised to make my birthday special.

My parents decided to organize a family dinner at Merlot, my favorite restaurant. I spent extra time getting ready that night, wearing the blue dress Kyle had once said brought out my eyes, styling my hair the way he liked it. I was determined to reconnect with my husband, to find our way back to each other.

Looking in the mirror before we left, I whispered to myself, Tonight will be different. Tonight will be a new beginning. I had no idea how prophetic those words would be, though not in the way I’d hoped.

Merlot was the perfect setting for what I hoped would be a healing evening. The restaurant’s warm amber lighting and exposed brick walls had always made me feel at home. The scent of fresh bread and rosemary filled the air as the hostess led me to our reserved table.

Kyle had texted that he’d meet me there, claiming a last-minute work call he couldn’t avoid. Mrs. Parker. The hostess smiled.

Your family has already arrived. My parents stood as I approached the table. My mother’s face lighting up in that contained way that meant she was happy to see me, but trying not to show too much emotion.

My father gave me a brief hug, patting my back awkwardly. Happy birthday, sweetheart, he said, handing me a small gift bag. Nothing fancy, just something your mother picked out.

My mother touched my hair. You look nice, Samantha. Though you might want to touch up your lipstick before the photos.

Typical. I hadn’t even sat down, and she was already finding something to improve about me. I tucked the critique away with all the others and smiled.

Thanks for organizing this, Mom. It means a lot. Jessica wasn’t there yet, which was no surprise.

She had elevated tardiness to an art form, ensuring all eyes would be on her when she made her entrance. I checked my phone for messages from Kyle, but found none. Kyle’s running late.

I explained as I took my seat. Work thing. My father nodded sympathetically.

That’s how it goes when you’re climbing the ladder. Your Kyle’s a hard worker. The waiter came by to take our drink orders.

I asked for water, still hoping to share the first toast with Kyle. My parents exchanged glances. Go ahead and have some wine, dear.

My mother encouraged. It’s your birthday. Before I could respond, there was a commotion at the entrance.

Jessica had arrived, and as always, she’d made sure everyone noticed. Her laugh rang through the restaurant as she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. She wore a tight red dress that left little to the imagination, drawing appreciative glances from nearby diners.

What made my heart stop was who accompanied her, Kyle. My Kyle, holding the door for her, his hand briefly touching the small of her back as they navigated between tables. They were walking too close, smiling too intimately, to be just in-laws who happened to arrive at the same time.

Sorry we’re late, Jessica announced. Leaning down to kiss my cheek with practiced precision that left no lipstick mark. I ran into Kyle in the parking lot.

Lucky coincidence, right? Kyle avoided my eyes as he took the seat beside me, squeezing my shoulder in what felt like an apologetic gesture. Happy birthday, Sam. Sorry about the delay.

I noticed he smelled freshly showered, his usual cologne stronger than normal. The work call excuse suddenly seemed flimsy. No problem, I replied, keeping my voice steady.

I’m just glad everyone’s here now. The waiter returned, and we ordered our meals. My parents dominated the conversation, talking about their recent cruise and the neighbor’s landscaping drama.

Jessica interjected frequently with stories about her latest sales triumph or the celebrities she’d allegedly met at a recent conference. Kyle remained unusually quiet, contributing only when directly addressed. Under the table, I placed my hand on Kyle’s knee, seeking connection.

He flinched slightly before covering my hand with his own. His palm felt clammy. Everything okay? I whispered while my father was deep in a story about golf.

Fine, Kyle replied, too quickly. Just tired. The gifts came next.

My parents gave me an impersonal gift card to a department store. Kyle handed me a small box containing diamond earrings that looked expensive but generic, like something chosen in haste. Jessica’s gift was a designer scarf that I strongly suspected she had bought for herself and decided to give to me at the last minute.

It’s exactly your color, she insisted, though the muddy orange had never been a shade I’d wear. The waiter brought out the chocolate lava cake I’d requested instead of a traditional birthday cake. As he placed it before me, my father raised his glass.

Before we sing, I’d like to make a toast to my oldest daughter on her birthday. Samantha, you’ve always been so… responsible. Your mother and I are proud of the stable life you’ve built.

Stable. Not exciting, not impressive, just stable. Like I was a reliable horse rather than a daughter celebrating another year of life.

As the waiter lit the single candle on my cake, I noticed Jessica shifting excitedly in her seat, exchanging meaningful glances with Kyle. My stomach tightened with foreboding. Actually, Jessica interrupted before we could sing, I have an announcement to make.

I think it would be the perfect addition to Sam’s birthday celebration. All eyes turned to her. She stood, smoothing her dress over her stomach with deliberate emphasis.

I wasn’t planning to share this just yet, but since we’re all together. She paused for dramatic effect, her eyes gleaming with triumph as they locked with mine. I’m pregnant.