The Gift That Sparked the Fire
The party was in full swing — laughter, clinking glasses, the sound of children running through the grass — when a delivery man arrived carrying a massive golden basket wrapped in shimmering plastic. It glittered under the sun like something out of a luxury commercial: designer baby clothes, silver rattles, monogrammed blankets.
The card read: With love, Sophia.
Sophia.
Mark’s ex-girlfriend.
The one Diane never stopped comparing me to.
Diane’s voice cut through the chatter. “Oh look! From Sophia! Such taste — a real class act.”
Her tone was honeyed, but the poison underneath was unmistakable. Guests looked around awkwardly. I stayed quiet, my smile unflinching. Because in my purse sat an envelope I’d been waiting weeks to reveal — proof from a private investigator that Diane hadn’t just been cruel. She’d been plotting.
All I needed was the right moment to strike.
