The baby shower was Dorothy’s worst nightmare come to life.
Thirty women crammed into Patricia’s living room, all of them staring at Dorothy’s belly. Touching it. Asking questions. Making comments about how she was carrying, what that meant about the baby’s s*x, whether she looked big or small for eight months.
Dorothy sat in the chair of honor, wearing the largest pregnancy padding she’d bought—third trimester, full term. It made her look ready to pop, which is exactly what eight months pregnant should look like. But it also made her feel like a fraud on display, waiting for someone to notice the truth.
“Open mine next!” Patricia handed her a perfectly wrapped box. “I’ve been so excited about this one.”
Dorothy pulled off the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a tiny white onesie w
