There are some people who just drain the light from a room. Ava has always been that person for me. My stepsister. My shadow. From the moment she walked into my childhood, she made it her life’s mission to steal every single spotlight. Every. Single. One. My high school graduation? A day I’d dreamt of for years. Ava faked a broken leg, demanding our parents’ full attention, leaving me with a half-empty row and a heart aching for them. My 21st birthday, a huge milestone? The day she just “had to” put her dog down, turning what should have been a celebration into a mournful vigil for a pet she barely tolerated. Then, the most unforgivable: the anniversary of my mom’s death. The one day of the year I allowed myself to just… grieve. Ava got married. On that exact day. A lavish ceremony she knew would overshadow everything.
We drifted apart after that. It was easier than constantly fighting for a sliver of my own life. But then, a few months ago, things changed. Ava reappeared, softer. Mellowed out, as people said. She was pregnant. Said she was trying to turn a new leaf. I wanted to believe her. I really did. Maybe, I thought, motherhood would finally humble her.
Last weekend, it was my turn. My fiancé and I hosted our engagement dinner. A beautiful, intimate gathering of our closest family and friends. A toast was prepared, a moment I’d replayed in my head a thousand times. A chance to thank everyone, to look into my fiancé’s eyes and acknowledge this incredible new chapter.
I stood up, glass in hand, the words catching in my throat, overwhelmed with happiness. I smiled at him, at our future. Then, a sudden, jarring movement. Ava.
She stood up, right there in the middle of my moment, her belly prominently displayed. A smug smile on her face. Her voice, loud and clear, cut through the quiet hum of conversation. “We’re having a boy!!” she shouted. “Congratulate us!”
The room erupted. Cheers. Clapping. Champagne corks popping. Our moment? Gone. Vanished. Just like every other moment she’d ever ruined for me. My smile froze, a painful rictus on my face. The world tilted. I felt a cold dread settle in, that familiar, crushing disappointment. Would it ever end? Would I ever get to have something truly mine?
I was still frozen, staring at her, feeling the hot tears prick my eyes, when karma, or something like it, finally stepped in. My stepmom, Ava’s mother, slowly stood up. The laughter died down a little, a ripple of unease moving through the room. She looked around the table, her gaze lingering on Ava, then on me. Her face was etched with something I couldn’t quite place – pain? Regret?
Then, her voice, barely a whisper, but it cut through the lingering celebratory buzz like a knife.
“Don’t.”
The single word hung in the air, a sudden, heavy silence falling over everyone. People exchanged confused glances. Ava’s husband looked bewildered. Ava herself, that triumphant smile still plastered on her face, finally faltered.
“Don’t what, Mom?” Ava asked, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Don’t congratulate me? It’s our baby!”
My stepmom’s gaze, now fixed solely on Ava, hardened. “Don’t congratulate you,” she repeated, her voice gaining strength, raw with emotion. “Because it’s not your baby, Ava. Not really.”
A gasp rippled through the room. My heart was pounding. What was happening?
“Mom, what are you talking about?” Ava laughed, a brittle, nervous sound. “Of course it’s my baby! I’m pregnant!”
“You’re carrying a child, yes,” my stepmom corrected, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she finally looked at me, “But you are not its mother. Not genetically. You just stole the last available embryo.”
My breath caught in my throat. Embryo?
“The last embryo,” my stepmom continued, her voice breaking, “that belonged to her.” She pointed a trembling finger at me. “The last embryo created with her late husband. The one she kept, the one she cherished, the one she hoped to one day bring into the world as a piece of him.”
My world didn’t just tilt; it imploded. Ava had known. She had known about the fertility clinic, about the last vial, about the dream I held onto after he was gone.
“She just… stole it,” my stepmom sobbed. “After you told her you wanted to freeze your own eggs, after she ‘helped’ you with the paperwork at the clinic. She switched them. It was the only way she knew how to finally have something to lord over you. To steal your future, even from beyond the grave.”
The room was silent. A suffocating, horrified silence. I looked at Ava, her face now pale, stripped of all triumph. I looked at her husband, his eyes wide with a dawning, terrible understanding. My fiancé was beside me, his hand gripping mine so tightly it hurt.
But I barely felt it. All I could feel was the icy, crushing weight of a betrayal so profound, it stole not just my moment, but my last, precious connection to the love I’d lost.
My own child. Stolen. And Ava, my stepsister, was carrying it. MY GOD.
