Eight months pregnant, Gabby expects to be a guest at her sister’s lavish wedding. Instead, she’s handed an outrageous “family duty” that pushes her to her breaking point. As the big day unfolds, Gabby must decide where loyalty ends… and self-respect begins.

When I tell people that I’m eight months pregnant, they usually react with a little gasp and a softened expression, followed by a comment about how I must be so “exhausted.”

They don’t know the half of it. As much as I love having my baby kick around inside me, the added weight is definitely adding years to my joints. And while pregnancy carries its own gravity, it’s nothing compared to being in my sister’s orbit.

Tara’s always had this way of making people orbit around her. Even as kids, she never really asked for help. Instead, she assigned it.

And somehow, you’d find yourself agreeing, not because you want to but because saying no felt like inviting a storm into your life. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my sister’s living room, carefully aligning artificial peonies on the centerpiece bases, when she dropped her big news. “I want to announce free transportation for all my wedding guests,” she said, smoothing down her planner pages with a manicured hand.

“You know, Gabby? To make it look chic and classy.”

My fingers froze mid-placement. The glue gun, still warm beside me, gave off the faint smell of singed plastic.

I blinked up at her. “Okay, Tara… that’s nice, sis,” I said slowly. “But how are you going to pull that one off?

Didn’t you say that you’d blown through your budget because of the food? That’s literally why we’re using fake peonies right now.”

My sister didn’t even look up from her spot on the couch. “Well, Gabrielle,” she said simply.

“Since your husband owns a transportation business and has a few cars, it’ll be easy for him to handle. Child’s play, really.”

I stared at her, unsure if I’d misheard her or not. But her voice was too casual, too confident, like this had already been decided days ago, and I was the last to know.

“You haven’t talked to Timothy about this,” I said, careful to keep my voice level, as though that might hold back the sudden rise of heat crawling up my chest. “He didn’t mention anything to me, anyway…”

“You can talk to him, Gabby,” my sister waved her hand dismissively. “He listens to you.”

“That’s not the point.”

Tara finally looked up, mildly annoyed, as if I were the one creating a problem.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Gabby. It’s your family’s business. You guys have cars and drivers, why not help your sister out on her big day?”

I braced my hands against the carpet, pushing myself up with effort.

The baby was kicking along in my belly, unhappy with the sudden shift in my movement. “And you expect me to be one of the drivers, Tara?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “Well, you’re pregnant… so you’ll be the ‘sober’ one,” she said.

“It’s not like you’ll be dancing all night anyway.”

My chest tightened… and it was not from the baby pressing into my ribs. It was the kind of tightness that made your breath catch in your throat before you even realized you were holding it. “Tara, I’m going to be nearly nine months pregnant on your wedding day.