You know when you think you know the people closest to you? When you believe that, no matter what problems exist, certain lines would never be crossed? Well, I thought so too.

My name is Marina, I’m 29 years old, and this is the story of how I discovered that some people are capable of anything to get what they want. It was a Thursday in May when I received news of my promotion. After four years of working as a project manager at a tech company in Austin, Texas, I would finally be the commercial director.

I couldn’t stop smiling at the office. I called David, my husband, and Beatrice, my younger sister, to share the joy. «Let’s celebrate at Terrazzo tonight,» I suggested.

Terrazzo was that chic Italian restaurant downtown where a meal cost more than minimum wage, but I could afford it. I worked hard for this. I arrived at the restaurant first, wearing the navy blue dress that David always said looked perfect on me.

I chose a table in a more secluded corner because I wanted privacy to celebrate. The dining room was full of executives and elegant couples, the kind of environment where I felt comfortable after years of building my career.

When I saw them arriving together, I found it strange. Beatrice was radiant, with a smile I hadn’t seen in a long time, and David seemed… nervous? He always got a bit uncomfortable in expensive places, but there was something different that night. There was a tension in the air that I couldn’t identify.

«Congratulations on the promotion, Mari!» Beatrice hugged me with suspicious effusiveness. She was never very demonstrative with affection, especially with me.

We ordered a $200 bottle of Chianti, and I started telling them about the new projects I would lead, the 40% salary increase, and the possibilities for international growth. Beatrice listened with too much attention. David kept fidgeting with his napkin.

«Actually,» Beatrice interrupted in the middle of my excitement, «we also have news to share.» She took David’s hand across the table, and my stomach knotted inexplicably. «I’m pregnant.»

The world stopped. Literally stopped. The voices in the restaurant became a distant buzz, and the lights seemed to flicker. I stared at my sister’s hand intertwined with my husband’s as if it were a mirage. Pregnant. Beatrice was pregnant with David’s child.

«I know it’s a complicated situation,» David spoke for the first time since they arrived, his voice coming out hoarse. «But it happened. And we… we fell in love.» They watched me with a mixture of expectation and poorly disguised satisfaction.

It was as if they were waiting for me to explode, scream, and make a scene that would give the other tables something interesting to talk about later. But I couldn’t do anything but stare. My sister, Beatrice, whom I helped pay for college when our parents couldn’t, was there holding my husband’s hand, pregnant with his child, telling me this on the day of my promotion.

«How long?» I managed to ask, my voice coming out strangely calm.

«Three months,» Beatrice replied, running her hand over her still imperceptible belly. «It started right after your birthday.»

My birthday had been in December. It was now May. Three months of betrayal, three months of lies. Three months of them laughing at me while I worked twelve hours a day to get the promotion I so wanted to share with the people I loved.

«Marina, say something,» David asked, and for the first time in years, I really looked at him. I really paid attention to the man I had been married to for four years. He looked relieved, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as if this was… liberating for him.

«What do you want me to say?» I asked, still in that strange voice that didn’t sound like mine. «Congratulations?»

Beatrice laughed, a nervous but genuine laugh. «Look, Mari, I know it’s not easy, but these things happen. Love is love, right? And the baby…» She ran her hand over her belly again. «The baby needs both parents, together.»

I picked up my purse slowly, left two $50 bills on the table—more than enough to cover my part of the bill—and stood up. «I’m going home. You… do whatever you want.»

As I walked toward the exit, I heard David calling my name, but I didn’t turn around. In the restaurant’s wall mirror, I could see their reflections still sitting at the table. Beatrice was smiling.

Throughout childhood, Beatrice lived in my shadow, and this irritated her deeply. I was the older daughter, the responsible one, the one who got good grades without having to try very hard. She was the youngest, the spoiled one, the one our parents protected from everything. But for some reason, this was never enough for her.

We grew up in a middle-class family in San Antonio. Our father worked as an accountant at an oil company, and our mother was an elementary school teacher. We weren’t rich, but we didn’t lack anything either. Even so, Beatrice always had the impression that she deserved more.

When I got a full scholarship to study business administration at the University of Texas, Beatrice made sure to say it was rich girl’s luck. When I graduated with honors and got an internship at a multinational in Austin, she commented that I always knew how to sell myself. When I bought my first apartment at 25, she asked if I wasn’t being too ambitious.