ave Mark eight y

ered dust while his biotech startup,

ate into the nights, the glow o

budget, stretched every d

painful battle with cancer, holding her ha

who ever truly felt like family, became seed money for GenLif

a. So was our son, Ben. So were the Winthrops, my biological parent

the one mistakenly given to them at the hospi

equal. It didn't matter that I was the one who debugged his early algorithms, who understood

ctor had said. A bad case. I was supposed to be resting, but Ben needed picking

o voicemail. Again. And again. My chest tightened with each unanswe

ling through Instagram for any dist

ark was there, beaming. Ben was beside him, looking thrilled. The Wi

Cassandra's surprise promotio

orchestrated by Mr.

ating, while I was sick, alone, and franticall

e effort making me dizzy. I had

anger and a deeper, colder dread. I found them ea

rrible as I felt. Pale,

mile vanished. Annoyance

and impatient. "Don't make a s

small, disdainful smile playing on her

soften his gaze. "You s

on a perfect mask of concern. "Oh, Sarah, you poor thing! Y

hadn't call

the elaborate cake. "Mark and Ben designed th