When my brother, Ryan, announced baby number five at Sunday dinner, my parents reacted as if he had just been elected president.
Dad was the first to stand, clapping Ryan hard on the back. “Great job, son,” he said, smiling across the dining room as though Ryan had personally protected the family legacy.
Mom dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “Another blessing.”
Across the table, my sister-in-law, Madison, rested one hand over her stomach and smiled like a queen accepting praise. Their four children were racing through the hallway, shrieking over a broken toy, while I seemed to be the only person who heard the crash from the living room.
Then Mom looked at me.
“You’ll handle the kids,” she said.
Not asked. Declared.
I set down my fork. “Absolutely not.”
The room fell silent so quickly I could hear the refrigerator buzzing.
Ryan frowned. “Don’t start, Olivia.”
