At our daughter’s three-month milestone party, my husband Garrett’s so-called "best friend" publicly humiliated me.

“Hey, Vivian. I heard you're a little loose down there after popping out the kid.”

"If it's that bad, you better get some tightening surgery quick—don't wanna mess up your marriage vibes!"

Garrett shot her a playful glare and snapped,

"Knock it off, Scarlett! You can't just say whatever pops into your head."

Then he turned to me with a breezy shrug.

"She's just like that—total tomboy. We grew up together; she means no harm."

Scarlett shook her half-exposed breast and pouted,

"Oh, come on, don't take it personally, Vivian. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous of you."

"See, my problem is the opposite. I'm way too tight—hurts like hell during my period. No clue who's gonna get lucky with this later."

Then she cut her eyes toward Garrett with a playful wink.

" Oh right, you've tried it before, haven't you?"

The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes drifted toward me, barely concealing their curiosity.

I smiled, set down my wine glass, and looked at Scarlett with fake concern.

"That's strange. I don't remember making it that tight when I did your surgery."

In the stunned silence, someone finally burst out laughing.

"Damn, Vivian's got bite! First person I've ever seen shut Scarlett up!"

Others jumped in, cracking jokes to ease the tension.

Garrett seized the moment, sliding an arm around me and murmuring in my ear, "Scarlett was just looking out for us. You know how she is -- no filter. Why do you have to go at her like that?"

Then he turned to Scarlett, his voice dripping with indulgent warmth. "See what happens when you run your mouth? Vivian shut you right down. Now go apologize."

Scarlett swallowed whatever was boiling behind her expression and raised her glass toward me.

"Alright, alright. You got me, Vivian. That mouth of yours is something else."

"Look, I basically grew up with these guys -- we've known each other since we were kids. They talk about anything and everything in front of me."

"I just got carried away. No hard feelings, okay?"

One of Garrett's friends rushed to smooth things over. "Exactly! Vivian, you're a miracle surgeon -- don't stoop to this tomboy's level."

"She's basically one of the guys with a push-up bra! Ha!"

The table erupted again. Scarlett played along, thrusting out her chest. "Oh, come on. With a body like this? You guys have been plenty lucky."

She turned to me. "Vivian, isn't my figure the best you've ever worked on?"

Garrett gave her a quiet "That's enough."

I looked at her sculpted curves -- every contour the product of my own hands -- and the corner of my mouth twitched.

Of course it was the best. I made it.

I spoke up again, this time letting my professional tone carry across the room.

"Scarlett, if you're really experiencing the kind of tightness you described, it could be post-surgical hypertrophic scarring. Or perhaps you had a second procedure done elsewhere."

"Either way, it can cause significant pain and even affect fertility. I'd strongly recommend a follow-up exam."

I made sure my voice was loud enough that people at the next table turned to look.

Garrett shot to his feet.

"Vivian. Outside. Now."

The wooden door sealed off the noise from the dining hall. The corridor was much quieter.

Garrett yanked at his tie in frustration.

"What is wrong with you? Accusing her of having surgery in front of all those people? You just humiliated her in front of everyone!"

I rubbed my reddened wrist where he'd gripped it.

"She's the one who brought up your private life at our daughter's celebration. And she's the one with no shame?"

A flash of guilt crossed his face.

"I knew it -- this is about last night. We were drinking, playing truth or dare. We're both doctors -- we talk about bodies all the time. It's not like that."

I scoffed. "Garrett, you're disgusting."

His eyes went cold, his jaw tight.

"Do you have to be so nasty about it?"

"Scarlett's right -- you've gotten so difficult since the baby. This is exactly what she was talking about."

The words cut deep. I was about to fire back when a shrill, piercing cry erupted from the dining hall.

I shoved past Garrett and ran.

What I saw when I burst through the doors made my blood boil.

Scarlett had Sophie cradled in one arm, a glass of whiskey in the other, tilting the rim toward the baby's tiny mouth.

"Come on, sweetie! Have a taste of the good stuff!"

"Gotta start 'em young!"

Garrett's buddies were cheering and hollering around them, egging her on.

The amber liquid sloshed over the rim and dripped into my daughter's crying mouth. The burn hit instantly -- Sophie's wail turned into a terrified, ragged shriek, her little limbs thrashing inside the swaddle.

Scarlett just laughed, clamping the baby tighter with her arm as her wrist tipped the glass further down.

"What are you doing?!"

I slapped her hand away with everything I had.

The glass flew from her grip and shattered on the floor.

I snatched Sophie into my arms. She was choking and gagging against my chest.

"Shh, baby, Mommy's here..."

I patted her back gently. My fingers came away damp and cold -- Scarlett had squeezed her so hard the diaper had burst.

Garrett walked in right behind me, just in time to see me wrench the baby from Scarlett's arms, sending her stumbling backward onto the floor.

His first instinct was to rush to Scarlett. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up, while shouting at me:

"Vivian, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you attacking Scarlett?"

He didn't even glance at our daughter, who was crying so hard she could barely breathe.

I held Sophie tight, my eyes like ice.

"Garrett, why don't you ask her what she was doing?"

"Feeding hard liquor to a three-month-old baby -- you could have killed her!"

Garrett froze. His gaze swept over the puddle of whiskey on the floor, and his expression stiffened for a moment.

But Scarlett was already rubbing her arm, her face a picture of wounded innocence.

"Vivian, come on. My grandpa used to put whiskey on our gums when we were teething. It's not a big deal."

"Toughens them up! I was just giving my little niece some grit!"

I was shaking with rage. I pulled out my phone. "Hello, 911? I need to report--"

Smack.

The phone was ripped from my hand and flung to the floor. Garrett was breathing hard, his chest heaving.

"You're really gonna call the cops over this? On a day like today, you want to ruin it for everyone?"

"Okay, she shouldn't have done it that way, but she wasn't trying to hurt anyone. Do you really have to blow everything out of proportion?"

I stared at him like I was looking at a stranger.

"Garrett..." My voice sounded hollow, even to me.

"You went to medical school. You know exactly what alcohol does to an infant."

"This is your daughter."

"What's going on here?" Garrett’s parents elbowed through the gawking crowd, their faces thunderous.

"A perfectly good celebration, and you're causing a scene. Embarrassing!"

I pointed at the shattered glass on the floor. "Scarlett fed Sophie hard liquor. I'm calling the police."

"Liquor?" Garrett’s father Donald paused, then let out a dismissive snort.

"That's what this is about? When Garrett was a baby, his grandfather used to dip his finger in bourbon and let him lick it. Never hurt him one bit!"

Garrett’s mother Patricia jabbed a finger in my face.

"She's fine! What's the big deal? A little whiskey isn't going to kill her!"

"Scarlett is a good girl -- we've known her her whole life. Don't you dare blame her!"

I looked at Garrett's silence, at his parents twisting everything inside out, at Scarlett standing off to the side, shooting me a smug little smile.

I felt nothing but utter disgust.

I took a deep breath, turned, and walked toward the door.

Garrett called after me. "Where are you going?"

"The hospital." I didn't look back. "If anything is wrong with her, Scarlett, I swear to God, this isn't over."

Thank God -- Sophie had barely ingested any whiskey. Most of it was vomited up as she cried. But she was still rattled, fussy and limp from the shock.

Ethan put down his stethoscope and exhaled.

"What happened? Isn't today supposed to be Sophie's party?"

When I didn't answer, he let it go. Instead, he took a small pink box from his desk and handed it to me.

"I've got a major surgery today -- couldn't make it to the party."

His voice was warm. "This is a gift for Sophie."

When I stayed in the observation room with my baby, Garrett texted: "How's the kid? Mom and Dad say stop overreacting -- running to the ER over nothing."

I didn't reply. I turned off my phone.

At one in the morning, I carried Sophie through the front door of our house.

There, standing in the middle of my living room, was Scarlett -- wearing my favorite silk robe.

She spotted me and let out a theatrical little "Oh!"

"You're back! I didn't bring any clothes, so Garrett told me to borrow something of yours. You don't mind, do you?"

"Where's Garrett?"

I pretended not to see the robe strap she'd deliberately let slip off her shoulder.

Scarlett pouted, then picked up my face towel and casually used it to wipe her feet, moving around the place like she owned it.

"He's in the study, on the phone with his dad. You look tired, Vivian -- give me the baby. I can help you take care of her from now on."

I stepped aside, avoiding her outstretched hand. "That won't be necessary."

Garrett came out of the study just in time to see me pull away from her. His expression darkened.

"What did the doctor say?"

I laid Sophie on the couch and checked her tiny hands and feet.

"She's stressed. Some kind of acute stress response. They said to keep an eye on her."

Garrett visibly relaxed.

"See? I told you she'd be fine. You had to go make a whole production out of it--"

I ignored him. I looked around the room. "Where's Mrs. Bennet?"

She is the professional nanny I hired to look after Sophie.

Garrett hesitated. "I let her go."

"Scarlett loves kids. I figured she could help out around here -- someone we know, instead of paying a stranger."

Scarlett tightened the robe around herself and slinked over, hips swaying.

"Don't worry, Vivian. I'm great with kids -- always have been. You two just focus on work and leave everything to me."

Seeing my stony expression, she let out a little laugh.

"Oh right, right -- today was my fault. Let me make it up to you!"

She grabbed the half-empty bottle of red wine off the coffee table and made as if to down it in one go.

Garrett snatched it away. "Come on, can you even handle that?"

His tone was annoyed, but the tenderness on his face was unmistakable.

Watching their little act, I picked up my daughter and headed for the door.

It took Garrett a moment to react before he stepped in front of me.

"Where are you going in the middle of the night? Can you stop being so dramatic?"

"Dramatic?" I laughed.

"Your 'buddy' is wearing my nightgown, using my towel, and about to get drunk before watching my daughter."

"Garrett, who exactly is being dramatic here?"

Scarlett flipped her hair. "Wow, jealous much? I was just being practical. Garrett -- your wife clearly can't stand me. Maybe I should just go."

"Enough!" Garrett raked his fingers through his hair.

"Vivian, she's already been called out, she said sorry -- can we just drop it?"

He glanced at the baby in my arms, his voice softening. "Don't put Sophie through this."

I said nothing. Sophie did still have a low-grade fever. The night air was cold. I couldn't do that to her.

"I want to see Mrs. Bennet here tomorrow morning!"

"Fine, fine! You got it."

I took Sophie to the guest room. Mrs. Bennet's baby supplies were still scattered around.

Garrett and Scarlett stayed up in the living room, talking and laughing until well past midnight. Even when Sophie woke up crying, he never once came to check.

At dawn, I dragged myself out of bed for the fourth time to take Sophie's temperature.

That's when I heard giggling coming from the master bedroom. "Oh man, look how dumb you looked back then!"

They were huddled together, heads touching, a lipstick in hand, drawing all over something.

That something was the pregnancy scrapbook I'd made by hand.

Garrett had once pointed to the first page, whispering in my ear: "When the baby grows up, we'll tell her the love story of Mommy and Daddy."

Now, on that same page, my face in our wedding photo had been smeared with red lipstick. Someone had drawn two big X's over my eyes.

And on Sophie's first ultrasound picture, scrawled in red: "Waste of space."

"What are you two doing?"

Scarlett jumped. The lipstick dragged a jagged red line across the photo.

"Oh! You're up? I thought the scrapbook was cute, so I... got creative."

She saw my face and shrugged. "Sorry? Here, let me wipe it off."

She rubbed at it with her palm, smearing the page into a mess of bright crimson.

"Give it back!"

I reached for it. She jerked away, and the sharp edge of the paper sliced a thin cut across her cheek.

"Vivian, what the hell?!"

Garrett lunged forward and shoved me hard.

I stumbled backward. My back slammed into the vanity. The mirror shattered, glass raining down around me.

He didn't look at me. He bent over Scarlett, cradling her, his voice tight with worry.

"Scarlett, are you okay?"

Scarlett touched her cheek and winced. "Damn, Vivian, you've got some grip..."

Garrett scooped her up in his arms. She squealed, then nestled her face into the curve of his neck.

"I'm taking Scarlett to the hospital. Vivian -- you went way too far this time."

After he left, I finally felt the wetness in my palm. I looked down. A long, deep gash ran across my hand between thumb and forefinger, the flesh gaping open.

Blood ran freely. I felt nothing. Just a dull, hollow ache.

I called Mrs. Bennet and told her I needed to go to the hospital, asking her to please get there within five minutes.