One afternoon, though, I overheard something far more hurtful.

“She looks exhausted,” Ingrid said as she poured tea. “I wonder how she’ll manage with two kids.”

Klara leaned in and whispered, “I’m still not convinced that first baby is even Peter’s. He doesn’t look anything like him.”

I froze. They were talking about our son.

Ingrid sighed. “That red hair… it’s definitely not from our side of the family.”

Klara chuckled, “Maybe she hasn’t been completely honest with Peter.”