Sharon, her mother-in-law, had never liked her. To Sharon, Leah would never be good enough — not elegant enough, not educated enough, not part of the “right kind of family.” Over the years, Sharon’s polite smiles and thinly veiled comments had become a painful routine.
Oh, she knew. Sharon could turn a family dinner into a battlefield of subtle insults and icy stares. Still, Leah had agreed to go, because that’s what wives did — they tried.
The drive stretched on, endless and silent. Greg’s jaw was tight, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Snow drifted across the windshield like ghosts. Leah tried to ease the tension. “He’s moving a lot today,” she said softly, resting a hand on her belly.
Greg didn’t respond. He only grunted, eyes fixed on the road. The air between them felt colder than the blizzard outside.
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