The air buzzed with excitement. Our backyard was transformed into a pastel dream of pink and blue, with twinkling fairy lights and tables adorned with fresh flowers. Laughter and chatter filled the air as our friends and family gathered, eagerly awaiting the big moment. I squeezed my husband, Marco’s, hand, feeling a rush of nerves. This was it. After months of anticipation, we were about to find out the gender of our baby.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the unease curling in my stomach. Maybe it was hormones, or maybe it was the fact that my mother-in-law, Bianca, was here.

Bianca had never liked me. From the moment Marco introduced me to her, she made it clear that I wasn’t the woman she wanted for her son. Too “headstrong,” she had once said with a sniff, as if that were an unforgivable flaw. She never failed to remind me that Marco had once dated a “sweet girl” who, in her words, “knew how to be a proper wife.” Over time, her passive-aggressive digs became something I learned to ignore—until today.

As I stood with Marco, our hands clasped around the large black balloon that would reveal pink or blue confetti, I caught sight of Bianca out of the corner of my eye. She sat primly at a table, a glass of wine in her hand, her lips curled into a smirk. The feeling in my gut twisted tighter. Something was coming, I just didn’t know what.

I took a deep breath and smiled at the crowd. “Alright, everyone! It’s time!”

Cheers erupted, and Marco lifted my hand to kiss it. “Ready, tesoro?”

I nodded, heart pounding. We raised the pin to the balloon, ready to pop it—but before the tip could even pierce the rubber, Bianca shot up from her seat.

“I can’t wait to have a GRANDSON!”

The sound of her voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the crowd’s excitement like a blade. Conversations halted. Eyes turned to her. I froze, the pin trembling between my fingers.

A cold shiver ran down my spine. “Bianca, what are you—”

“I got the results from a friend at the clinic.” Her voice dripped with fake innocence. “So, I already know the gender of the baby.”

The breath whooshed out of my lungs. The crowd gasped. Marco’s grip on my hand tightened.

“What?” I barely whispered.

Bianca shrugged. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear. You left your envelope unattended for all of five minutes. I made a quick call.”

The world tilted. She had invaded one of the most precious moments of my life, stomped all over it just to be the center of attention. I felt my eyes sting, the injustice of it all making my chest burn.

“Bianca,” Marco’s voice was cold as ice, his jaw clenched. “That wasn’t your information to take.”

“Oh, relax,” she waved a dismissive hand. “I thought it would be fun if I revealed it instead.”

I stared at her, my nails digging into my palm. My special moment, ruined. I wanted to scream, but instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat and lifted my chin.

“You know what, Bianca?” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Go ahead.”

Her smirk faltered for a split second, but then she turned to the crowd, lifting her glass higher. “It’s a boy!”

The words hung in the air. Some people clapped awkwardly, unsure of how to react to the tension in the room. My heart ached. I had dreamed of popping that balloon, of sharing that moment with Marco. And she had ripped it away without a second thought.

Bianca beamed, drinking in the attention. “A firstborn grandson, just as it should be!”

That’s when I saw it—the way she tilted her chin in triumph, as if she had won. As if I were just a vessel for delivering what she considered a proper heir. A grandson.

And suddenly, I knew exactly how to make her regret it.

I let out a small, breathy laugh. “That’s cute, Bianca.”

Her smile stiffened. “Excuse me?”

Marco caught the shift in my expression, his lips twitching in anticipation. He knew that look.

“You see,” I continued, turning to our guests, “Bianca got her information from a friend at the clinic. But funny enough, I also have connections.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I pulled out my phone and tapped on the video my doctor had sent me earlier—the real reveal. I turned the screen to face the guests, where, in clear block letters, it said:

Congratulations, it’s a girl!

Bianca’s face drained of color.

“I—I don’t understand,” she stammered. “That’s impossible!”

I gave her a sweet, saccharine smile. “Oh, Bianca. Maybe next time, don’t be so eager to steal the spotlight.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. Marco laughed beside me, shaking his head. Bianca, humiliated and furious, sank back into her seat, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Guess your ‘friend’ at the clinic made a little mistake,” I said airily. “Too bad, huh?”

I popped the balloon myself, watching as a shower of pink confetti rained down. This moment, this joy—it was mine to reclaim.

And from the way Bianca sulked for the rest of the evening, I knew she’d think twice before ever pulling something like that again.

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