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My sister ripped open the gender-reveal box before my husband and I could even touch it, shouted, “It’s a boy!” to forty people in our backyard, and threw her arms into the air as blue balloons spilled around her feet. For a few stunned seconds, nobody moved. I was eight months pregnant, standing ten feet away in the dress I’d bought for the photograph we’d waited six weeks to take, and I realized my sister had once again stolen something she could never give back.
Chapter 1 “Chelsea,” I said into the little microphone we’d set up for the toast. “You need to apologize.” She stared at me as if...
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