That night, sleep eludes me. Every time I attempt to rest, my mind conjures images of Vivienne entwined with my husband, reducing me to a stranger within my own home. By seven, I force myself out of bed, slipping into a loose tunic paired with matching pants. The reflection staring back at me from the mirror is barely recognizable—pale skin, shadowed eyes, and a hijab draped haphazardly around my shoulders.

Downstairs, the house is eerily silent. Jonah is already gone, but a neatly written note waits on the kitchen counter: "Had to leave for a meeting. We'll talk tonight."

Talk. As if words could mend the fracturing pieces of my life. I crumple the note in a single motion and toss it into the trash.

The drive to my parents' house crawls by, every traffic light a small eternity. With each halt, I replay Vivienne’s barbed words, stewing over what my parents might want to discuss. A heaviness settles in my chest the closer I get.

Mama opens the door before I even knock, enveloping me in a hug that smells of cardamom and jasmine. The instant warmth of her embrace is a balm I hadn’t realized I desperately needed.

"Habibti, you look exhausted. Are you taking care of yourself?" she asks, concern laced in her tone.

"I’m fine, Mama," I reply, the lie sliding out effortlessly, honed after years of practice. "What did you need to talk about?"

Baba steps into view behind her, his face softer than usual, though there’s something unreadable in his expression. "Come in, ya rohi. Let’s sit down."

They guide me to the living room, unchanged from the countless afternoons of my childhood. The cream-colored sofa, the family photos lining the mantle, all familiar. Yet today, the space feels cloaked in an air of unease.

"Tea?" Mama asks, already moving toward the kitchen. Her restless energy fills the room.

"Just tell me what’s going on," I press, impatience creeping into my voice. "You’re both acting strange."

They exchange an unspoken glance. My heart tightens.

Baba settles across from me, clasping his hands together as though steeling himself. "There’s something you need to hear. Something about our family."

Shock and fear churn within me. "Is someone sick?" I blurt, scanning their faces frantically for answers. "It’s not—"

"It’s nothing like that," Mama interrupts, returning with a tray of mint tea. Her movements exude nervous energy. "This is about Vivienne."

Her name strikes a nerve. Of course, it’s about Vivienne. My lips press together, but I force myself to ask, "What about her?"

I feign composure, though inwardly I wish the conversation would veer away from the woman threatening my happiness. If she’s unwell, should I pity her? Part of me wants to relish it, but I know better than to show it.

Another weighted exchange between my parents. Their silent communication, a product of decades together, only heightens my dread.

"Jonah introduced her to us, and we’ve loved Vivienne like one of our own," Mama begins cautiously.

"She’s such a sweet girl," I reply, the sweetness in my tone as false as the words themselves. "A bit high maintenance though. Jonah left me stranded on a highway for her last night."

The room falls silent.

I wait for outrage or sympathy, but neither comes. Their collective calm pricks at my patience.

"Habibti," Mama starts gently, reaching for my hand. "Her health is fragile. She had a panic attack—"

"That’s true," Baba adds with a nod. "Given her condition, Jonah had little choice but to be with her."

I pull my hand away slowly, staring at them in disbelief. "Let me get this straight: you both think it’s reasonable for your pregnant daughter to be abandoned on a highway in the dead of night… for Vivienne?"

An awkward silence settles between us.

I grab my purse in one swift motion. "I’m done."

"Sienna, please." Baba grabs my arm before I can leave. "Vivienne isn’t a bad person. She simply needs us. She’s never had the support of a real family."

I scoff, rolling my eyes at the familiar story of Vivienne’s troubled upbringing. The sympathy it garners from everyone grates on me.

"And? Why does that matter to me?"

Mama sits beside me, taking my other hand. Trapped between them, I have no escape.

"Dr. Rashid examined Vivienne last week after one of her episodes," Baba explains quietly. "He noticed a birthmark on her shoulder. It’s distinctive."

The air shifts around me. My throat feels dry, my voice barely steady. "Okay?"

"It’s the same birthmark our daughter had," he reveals, his voice trembling slightly.

I stare at him, confusion swirling. "Your daughter? What daughter?"

Mama’s eyes fill with tears as the room seems to close in around me. "The child we lost. Twenty-three years ago, someone stole our baby girl from the hospital."

The floor feels unsteady beneath my feet. "You never told me any of this."

"It was too painful," Baba says, his voice heavy. "You were meant to be our fresh start. We didn’t want to overshadow your life with sorrow."

"Wait," I interrupt, feeling the weight of their confession descend. "Are you saying I’m… adopted?"

"Yes," Mama whispers. "Your birth mother gave you up, wanting you to have a better life."

The foundation of everything I’ve believed shatters before me. Memories, reassurances, familial connections—all pale in the stark light of these revelations.

"So, Vivienne is…" I begin, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Our biological daughter," Baba confirms.

The words cut deep, leaving me reeling. My hands instinctively move to my belly as my unborn child protests with a sharp kick, almost as if joining me in my disbelief.

"Dr. Rashid ran DNA tests," Mama adds hesitantly. "There’s no doubt."

Shock gives way to a sinking realization. "How long have you known?"

"A week," Baba admits.

A week. They’ve known for seven days and chose now to tell me. A surge of anger bubbles.

"Did she know?" I demand, tone sharp.

"We told her yesterday," Mama answers softly.

Rage consumes me. "So, while I was falling apart, you were playing happy families with her?"

"Sienna," Baba attempts to soothe me. "This is good news. We’re together now. Whole."

"You’re giving her my room, aren’t you?" I spit, understanding dawning upon me.

"You’re married," Mama says, trying to be gentle. "You have your own life."

"And my inheritance? What about the things you said were mine?"

A pause, longer than I can bear. Baba looks at me with regret. "Those were always meant for her."

I let the realization sink in. I've become collateral damage in their pursuit of their lost child.

Without another word, I stand and head for the door. Their desperation calls after me, but I don’t look back. I walk away, their voices blending into muffled background noise.

When I’m finally in my car, hands trembling on the steering wheel, I pull out my phone to make a single call.

Jonah picks up after several rings. "Sienna?"

"You knew about Vivienne, didn’t you?"

His hesitation answers everything. "I can explain."

"Don’t. You kept it from me."

"She wanted to tell you herself."

"Everyone’s betraying me, Jonah. Everyone," I hiss before ending the call abruptly.

For the first time, I feel clarity. Without hesitation, I dial the number that will alter everything.

When the calm voice of a divorce lawyer greets me, I know the time has come to reclaim what’s left of my life.