PART 2: I didn’t sleep that night. I stared at that anonymous note until the ink felt burned into my eyelids. The more I thought about it, the more the afternoon replayed in slow motion. Hannah had been edgy the moment I walked in. My aunt had barely greeted me. The gift table was arranged so that my diaper cake sat front and center—as if waiting to be destroyed.
But why me?
By morning, I needed answers.
I drove to the Whitmores’ home, half-expecting Aunt Linda to slam the door in my face. Instead, she opened it with the tight smile of someone performing for an audience.
“Emily. I assume you’re here to apologize.”
“Actually,” I said, holding up the note, “I’m here about this.”
Her smile faltered. “Where did you get that?”
“It was slipped into my gift bag. Someone wanted me to know the truth.”
Aunt Linda stiffened. “There is no ‘truth.’ Hannah had a bad day and you made it worse by storming out.”
“She dumped my gift into the sink.”
“She’s pregnant, Emily!”
I could feel my patience breaking apart. “Who organized the games?”
She blinked at the sudden change of topic. “What?”
“Baby Bingo. The baby food challenge. The prizes. Who printed the sheets?”
“I—I did. Why does that matter?”
“Because someone wanted me to win. Whoever set up the Bingo cards made mine easy. I compared them last night.”
This was a lie. I hadn’t compared anything. But the flicker in her eyes told me everything. She swallowed.
“That’s ridiculous,” she muttered, stepping back. “I won’t entertain this.”
I was done with polite conversations. I stepped past her and into the living room.
Hannah sat on the couch, eating cereal, completely calm—the opposite of the woman who’d yelled at me yesterday. When she saw me, she rolled her eyes.
“Oh God. What now?”
“You planned the whole thing,” I said quietly. “Didn’t you?”
She scoffed. “Please. You think I’d waste energy on you?”
“Someone does.”
For a second—just a second—her façade cracked. She looked toward the hallway, then back at me.
“Leave, Emily,” she said. “Trust me. Just leave.”
But I didn’t.
I walked toward the hallway she’d glanced at. Aunt Linda grabbed my arm, but I shook her off. The door at the end of the hall was slightly open.
Inside was a small office—printer, stacks of cardstock, and on the desk…
multiple Bingo sheets—mine highlighted in yellow.
Next to them was a script.
A literal script.
“Scene 4: Hannah gets upset when Emily wins again.
Scene 5: Emotional escalation.
Scene 6: Destroy diaper cake.”
My hands trembled. This was premeditated. Planned. Rehearsed.
Aunt Linda rushed in and grabbed the papers, shouting, “You weren’t supposed to see that!”
Behind her, Hannah looked at me with something between shame and resentment.
The meltdown hadn’t been about Bingo.
It had been about me—and I still didn’t know why.
“Why?” I whispered. That single word filled the room like smoke.
Hannah buried her face in her hands. Aunt Linda snapped, “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”
“It matters to me,” I said steadily. “Tell me why you did this.”
A long, suffocating silence followed.
And then Hannah broke.
“You ruined everything,” she said hoarsely. “For years.”
I stared at her, stunned. “What are you talking about?”
“You were always the favorite,” she spat. “Grandma adored you. My mom compared me to you constantly. ‘Why can’t you be more like Emily?’ ‘Emily got another scholarship.’ ‘Emily is so thoughtful.’”
Aunt Linda grabbed her daughter’s hand, shushing her, but Hannah pulled away.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Hannah said. “That’s the worst part. You just… existed. And every time I saw you, it felt like I was shrinking.”
I felt the anger drain out of me, replaced with something heavier—sadness, maybe. Or disbelief.
“So you staged a meltdown to humiliate me?”
She nodded, tears spilling over.
“And to make you apologize publicly. So Mom would finally stop holding you up as an example.”
Aunt Linda looked away, her guilt unmistakable.
“But who wrote the note?” I asked. “Someone wanted me to know the truth.”
Both women froze.
I suddenly remembered: the only person near the gift table when I arrived had been Hannah’s husband, Mark.
I went straight to their bedroom. Mark was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes. When he looked up at me, there was no surprise in his eyes—only resignation.
“You found the office,” he said softly.
“You wrote the note.”
He nodded.
“I wanted her to stop,” he said. “For months, your aunt pushed Hannah into this resentment. She drafted those ‘scenes’ you found. She convinced Hannah that humiliating you would make her feel better. I tried talking her out of it, but… you saw how it turned out.”
My breath caught. “Why didn’t you warn me sooner?”
“Because Hannah is my wife. I hoped she wouldn’t do it. But when I saw the diaper cake in the sink…” He sighed. “I couldn’t let you think it was your fault.”
I didn’t know what to say.
When I walked back to the living room, Aunt Linda was wiping her tears angrily. Hannah looked smaller than I’d ever seen her.
“I’m done,” I said. “With all of you. I’m not your punching bag, your comparison tool, or your scapegoat.”
Hannah whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Maybe she meant it. Maybe she didn’t.
But I knew one thing:
I deserved better than to be the villain in someone else’s insecurities.
And for the first time, I chose myself.
I walked out the door—and didn’t look back.
