The first crack showed up over money.
That evening, Sabrina stood in the kitchen scrolling through a shopping site while Terrence sat on the couch.
“I need eight hundred,” she said casually.
Terrence looked up. “For what?”
Sabrina didn’t blink. “Maternity clothes, hair, a prenatal package. I’m carrying your baby, aren’t I?”
Terrence frowned. “Eight hundred for that?”
Sabrina crossed her arms. “So now you cheap?”
Ivonne, who was sitting nearby shelling peas like she lived for other people’s business, jumped in fast.
“Terrence, give her what she needs,” she said. “This one is carrying your future.”
Sabrina smirked, because she had already learned the easiest way to control that house:
Use the baby.
And from that day, every little thing became a demand.
A new phone. A salon appointment. A ride across town. Cash for cravings. Money for stress.
Terrence started feeling it.
Not just in his wallet.
In his pride.
Still, he kept bragging online. Kept posting. Kept acting like Nyla was the loser.
But not everyone was celebrating.
Kesha was watching.
Kesha—the same cousin who loved gossip more than oxygen—had started getting irritated.
At first, it was jealousy. Sabrina was getting attention. Sabrina was becoming the new center of the family drama.
