I glance at her, holding my composure, and respond coolly, “How is the food, Rita?”
She shrugs dismissively. “It’s okay.”
“The cook is sitting right next to you,” I point out, tightening my grip on my fork. “Is it just okay, or is it amazing? Your plate is clean. You’re the only one who finished it.”
“Yes, that’s because of the pregnancy. I can’t help it,” she says with a smirk. “You’ve never been pregnant before—you wouldn’t understand.” She pauses, glancing over at Madeline.
“Madeline has a daughter. She would understand.”
A rush of anger surges through me. She knows exactly what she’s doing, jabbing at a wound she’s fully aware exists. I tried for three years to give Eric the family he wanted. Three long years, and nothing. I never got the chance to give him a child, something I kn
