Part 2Gifting My BFF Something Extra Special

The memory was so vivid it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I turned my head, gently pushing the bowl away. The greasy scent of the soup suddenly churned my stomach, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat.

“I don’t think I can.”

My refusal, public and stark, wiped the smile from her face. Her expression hardened. Before she could speak, my mother-in-law shot me a look of pure contempt.

“Elara Vance, don’t you dare be rude! Seraphina got up at the crack of dawn to make this for you. You used to beg for her soup. What’s with the theatrics now?”

The nurses started whispering amongst themselves.

“Seriously, some people don’t know how lucky they are. If I had a friend like that, I’d drink the whole pot.”

“The soup will get cold and lose all its nutrients. What a waste. That bitch is just putting on a show.”

“She’s just trying to feel superior, making a scene to put Seraphina in her place.”

My mother-in-law looked ready to lunge at me, but Seraphina smoothly stepped between us, shielding me. Then, with a look of saintly concern, she produced a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade.

“Elara, it was my fault. I should have been more thoughtful,” she said, her voice a soft, apologetic murmur. “I brought this, too. Maybe this will help.”

She pushed the glass toward me.

My mother-in-law scoffed, then immediately softened her tone as she looked at Seraphina. “Oh no, honey, you can’t give her that. You have a cold. The doctor said you need the vitamin C. You drink it.”

Seraphina shook her head, her performance of self-sacrifice unwavering. “Elara told me she’s been craving sour things. This is perfect for her nausea. I’ll be fine.”

If I didn’t know the poison that lurked beneath her perfect facade, I might have been moved. I might have taken the glass.

But looking at her now, all I felt was a tidal wave of hatred so powerful I wanted to tear her limb from limb.

My first instinct was to throw the lemonade in the trash, to cut her out of my life completely and protect my baby.

But as I turned, my eyes fell on the dog my husband was cradling—our pregnant golden retriever. Her belly was round and full; she was carrying at least five or six pups.

I looked back at Seraphina, who was watching me with an unnervingly intense, calculating gaze.

A wild, venomous thought sparked in my mind.

If the dog ate the food she made… would the puppies in its belly end up in hers?

I decided to run an experiment.

I pushed the lemonade back into Seraphina’s hand, forcing down my revulsion. “I’ve been throwing up all morning. I don’t think I can handle anything acidic right now.”

I gestured to the thermos. “And it would be a shame to waste that soup after all your hard work.”

Just then, another pregnant woman who had just finished her appointment spotted us. “Sera? Is that really you? It’s me, from college! We were good friends, remember?”

She gave Seraphina an enthusiastic once-over. “Did you make this soup yourself?” Her eyes lit up. “I still remember the food you used to bring from home back on campus. It was amazing. I haven’t had your cooking in ages. Could I… maybe have a taste?”

I sized the woman up. She was plain, with rough skin and a short, stout frame. I remembered Seraphina mentioning a classmate who’d been a terrible student and dropped out.