Every Fourth of July, our family gathered at Grandma’s house for fireworks, food, and stories. This year felt even more special—Mark and I were four months pregnant and ready to share the news.

As we pulled up, I joked that my sister Kate wouldn’t show—she hadn’t attended family events in years. Last I’d seen her, she brushed past me at the hospital and had once stolen money from me without a word of apology.

The celebration began warmly. Grandma immediately noticed my glow. Everything felt perfect—until Kate appeared at the gate.

“Hey, family! Can someone let me in?”

Just like that, the air changed. Kate barged in like nothing happened and declared, “I’m pregnant!” Cheers erupted. I stood frozen. Mark whispered, “Do we tell them now?” I nodded.

“We’re expecting too,” I said. More hugs—except from Kate, who immediately threw shade. “Funny how you’re pregnant now, right after I am,” she sneered. Then came the wild accusation: I was faking a pregnancy to get Grandma’s inheritance.

When I tried to show my ultrasound, it was missing. Moments later, Kate pulled it from her purse, claiming it as hers. Furious, I stormed off. Returning later, I caught her taking retinoids—medication harmful to pregnancy.

I confronted her. Loudly. “What pills are you taking again?” Her answer—retinoids—shocked Mom and Grandma. “You’re not pregnant,” I said. She refused a test and screamed about money.

Grandma stood up. “You get nothing.”

Kate stormed off under the fireworks. I stayed, wrapped in truth and Mark’s arms—relieved.