Denise’s living room smelled like roasted chicken and fresh bread, like every Sunday lunch ever. You were curled up next to Christian on the couch, his arm slung lazily around you. You didn’t even noticed Sofia at first; Christopher walked in all proud, introducing her like she was some trophy he’d won.

She was beautiful, though. The kind of perfect where even her hair looked like it had a personal assistant. You didn’t care; good for him. Christian’s family clapped and hugged and Denise was already offering her pie.

But then… You shivered. Just a little. And Christian, being the walking green flag he is, immediately shrugged off his jacket and draped it over you. You were halfway through saying “thank you” when you saw Sofia, across the table, clutch her arms and fake a shiver.

“Babe.” She whispered sweetly to Christopher. “I’m cold.”

And just like that, he gave her his jacket.

At first, you thought it was funny. Coincidence. Whatever. But the weeks kept passing, and the coincidences kept stacking.

If you posted about craving pickles dipped in vanilla ice cream, suddenly Sofia was posting the same thing. If Christian kissed your belly for a silly picture, thirty minutes later, there was Christopher kissing hers; same angle, same caption. Christian laughed it off. “Cousin telepathy, babe.” He’d grin. “Me and Chris are just connected like that.”

But you knew better.

When Christian and you announced the pregnancy, Sofia announced hers the same week. Still, you smiled. You thought maybe you could share cravings, shopping trips, late-night complaints. But every single thing you mentioned, every idea, every feeling, she snatched like it was hers.

Then came the baby names. She asked you one day, all wide-eyed. “You’ve always got the best ideas… What names are you thinking of?”

And dumbass you, you told her. Yoj told her the one name you’d been holding in your heart since you were fifteen. Sylvester. Christian loved it too. It was yours.

A week later, Christian got a call at 11 p.m. Christopher’s panicked voice. “It’s happening. She’s early. Two weeks early.”

Christian threw on a hoodie, and before you left, you told him. “Get her sushi. She loves sushi. She won’t be able to eat it for a while.”

So you did. You carried that little tray into the hospital room, all smiles, ready to hand it to her like a peace offering.

And then she looked up from her hospital bed, sweaty, glowing, grinning as she cradled her baby boy.

“Meet Sylvester.” She cooed.

The sushi tray slipped in your hands. Your whole chest cracked open. The name. Your name. She took it. She stole it.

You stood there frozen, clutching the damn sushi you’d bought her, while Christian leaned over Christopher’s shoulder to admire the baby, not realizing your whole world was caving in.

Sofia just smiled at you, that perfect little smile, like she’d won.