I poured a cup of tea for my sister, Amelia, as she sat across from me at my kitchen table, dabbing her red, puffy eyes with a crumpled tissue. “I just—I don’t know how to feel,” she sniffled, staring into the steaming cup. “One moment, I was picking out baby names, and the next… it’s all gone.” I reached out, giving her hand a squeeze, my expression perfectly schooled into one of sisterly concern. “I can’t even imagine how hard this must be.”
Which was true. I couldn’t imagine, because I had made sure I’d never have to.
She sighed, taking a trembling sip of the tea. “It’s just… so unfair.”
I nodded, forcing my features into something appropriately solemn. “It really is.”
What I didn’t say was that it would have been more unfair if she had gone through with it—parading around my wedding, glowing in that self-righteous, maternal way that only newly pregnant women do, drawing all the attention away from me on my big day.
She should have known better.
The moment she had gleefully announced her pregnancy at my bridal shower—right in the middle of my speech, no less—I had smiled, hugged her, and then spent the rest of the evening plotting. A few drops of a special herbal tincture in her tea, the last time she had visited, had ensured that my wedding photos remained blissfully baby-bump free.
And honestly? I had almost forgotten about it.
Until now.
Amelia swirled her tea absentmindedly with her spoon. “I should have known better,” she murmured, her voice oddly detached.
My fingers tightened around my own cup. “What do you mean?”
She sighed, still not looking at me. “I mean, getting pregnant right before your wedding? I should have expected something from you.”
The air in the room changed. My stomach twisted, but I forced a breathy little chuckle. “Amelia, what are you even talking about?”
She finally looked up, and for the first time since she’d walked through my door, her eyes weren’t filled with sadness. They were sharp. Watchful.
“Come on, Lydia,” she said lightly, tapping a manicured nail against the rim of her cup. “You always were a little possessive. I’m just saying, if the roles were reversed…” She trailed off meaningfully, taking another sip.
My throat felt dry.
She set the cup down with a soft clink and tilted her head at me. “By the way, how’s your honeymoon been? Feeling okay?”
Something cold and heavy settled in my gut. My vision blurred, and for a moment, I felt… dizzy. Like I wasn’t quite right. I opened my mouth to speak, but instead, I swallowed hard, trying to push down the sudden wave of nausea.
Amelia leaned back, her lips curling into a knowing, almost playful smile. “You know, some herbs have the most fascinating effects.”
Her words hung in the air like a silent warning, and then it hit me. The tea. The faint, medicinal aftertaste from when I had brewed it. The very same tea that had sent her spiralling into her miscarriage—the very same tea that I’d been sure would keep her from ruining my wedding photos.
My breath caught in my throat.
I hadn’t expected this. I hadn’t expected her to turn it around on me.
“I-I don’t—” I stammered, looking at her wide-eyed.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she purred. “I know what you did. I just didn’t know it would take this long to hit me.”
My hands shook as the truth finally settled. Amelia had known. She knew what I had done. And worse—she had been playing me this whole time.
She had swapped the tea.
The tea I had so carefully poisoned.
She had added something else—something that wasn’t meant to take a life, but to turn the tables.
It wasn’t a miscarriage she’d suffered. It was all an act.
She wasn’t grieving a lost child.
She was getting ready to ruin me.