“What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
“If I tell the truth, my family will destroy me.”
I stepped closer.
“Elliot, your family has spent your entire life treating you like the backup plan. Sloane used you to produce a baby she could pass off as your brother’s. Grant is about to raise your child while you stand at birthday parties pretending to be Uncle Elliot.”
His eyes lowered.
“They’ve already destroyed you.”
From inside, applause erupted.
Then Sloane’s voice carried through the open doors.
“Everybody! We’re doing gifts!”
Elliot looked terrified.
I turned toward the ballroom.
Behind me, he asked, “Rebecca, what exactly did you bring?”
I glanced over my shoulder.
“A family heirloom.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“The truth.”
Then
I walked inside.
Sloane opened gifts for nearly half an hour.
Designer diaper bags.
A silver rocking horse.
Cashmere baby blankets.
A stroller that probably cost more than my first car.
Every gift came with photographs.
Every photograph came with Sloane touching her stomach and Grant standing beside her.
Then she reached for mine.
The room became strangely quiet.
Sloane held up the pale blue box.
“And this,” she announced, smiling toward me, “is from Rebecca.”
Several guests turned.
Some looked uncomfortable.
Others looked fascinated.
Everyone knew who I was.
Grant’s ex-wife.
Sloane’s former best friend.
The woman who supposedly couldn’t give him a child.
Sloane untied the ribbon slowly.
She lifted the lid.
Inside was a smaller wooden presentation case.
Her smile faltered.
She opened it.
For three seconds, she didn’t move.
Then all the color disappeared from her face.
Grant leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Sloane slammed the
lid shut.
“Nothing.”
Grant frowned.
“Sloane.”
“It’s just some stupid joke.”
He reached for the case.
She grabbed his wrist.
“Grant, don’t.”
That was the worst thing she could have said.
He pulled away from her and opened it himself.
Inside were two certified medical reports mounted beneath protective glass.
Grant read the first one.
His expression changed.
Then the second.
His lips parted.
“What the hell is this?”
Nobody moved.
Sloane stood frozen.
I rose from my chair.
“You wanted me here to celebrate your miracle,” I said. “I thought everyone deserved to know exactly how miraculous it is.”
Grant looked at me.
“These are fake.”
“No.”
“You fabricated medical records?”
“No.”
His voice rose.
“What are you trying to do?”
