a dose of pretty poison

The soft glow of fairy lights was supposed to mark a perfect first birthday for our daughter, Lily, in the grand living room of the Vance mansion.

Then the front door burst open, and in walked Brenda, the nanny we' d just fired, her face a mask of bitter resentment.

"Quite the party," she sneered, "A party for my granddaughter."

My husband, Liam, stiffened beside me, while I tried to process her insane claim: granddaughter?

"Brenda, what are you doing here?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly. "You need to leave. Now."

"This is my son' s house, after all," she declared, pointing at Liam, "Liam is my son. My long-lost son."

My mind reeled at the absurdity, as she brazenly twisted reality.

She then called me a "gold digger" and the "help," her words dripping with venom.

Before I could even respond, her hand shot out, slapping me across the face with a painful crack.

Liam roared, grabbing her, "Don' t you ever touch my wife again! Get out of my house!"

But Brenda simply smiled, unhinged, before her son Ethan and his thuggish friends appeared, a silent, menacing reinforcement.

"This is my real family," she declared, "And we' re here to stay."

She pulled out a faded photo of herself with a young Richard Vance, Liam's father, announcing, "This is the proof! Richard was there, he knows the truth!"