We kept it simple: pasta, garlic bread, a salad or two. Nothing extravagant. The kind of easygoing evening where family gathers, eats, and lingers around the table.

Oliver’s sister, Julia, arrived with her twin boys, Caleb and Mason, who were seven. Julia is thirty-two and a single mom. She and I have never really clicked. Everything with her feels like a competition—whether it’s parenting, money, careers, or even who brought the “better” dessert. Still, I’ve always tried to stay polite. Raising twins alone can’t be easy, and I respected her for that, even if her attitude grated on me.

I had even prepared a little kids’ corner in the den for the boys: juice boxes, snacks, and a stack of cartoons ready to play. Oliver tossed a beanbag chair in there to make it cozy.