Mom stood as soon as she saw me.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Of course I came.”
David appeared from the delivery area wearing scrubs.
He looked exhausted.
“She wants to see you.”
I followed him.
Jennifer was propped against the hospital bed, her hair pulled back messily, her face pale with fatigue.
Her eyes filled the moment she saw me.
“You came.”
I walked to the bedside.
“You’re having my nephew.”
She laughed once through her tears.
Then her expression changed.
“I need to say something.”
“Jen, you’re in labor.”
“I know.”
“We can do this later.”
“No. I need to do it now.”
She reached for my hand.
“I was awful to you.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“I took your money and decided you weren’t good enough for the party it paid for.”
Her voice broke.
“I keep thinking about what kind of person does that.”
I squeezed her hand.
“You made a terrible decision.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t have to become your permanent identity.”
She nodded.
“I don’t want my son learning that people matter more when they look successful.”
Another contraction interrupted her.
She gripped my hand hard enough to hurt.
I stayed.
When it passed, she breathed out slowly.
“I don’t care about your money.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She managed a weak smile.
“I mean, the two-point-eight-billion-dollar part is difficult not to notice.”
I laughed.
“But that isn’t why I want you here,” she continued. “I want you here because you’re my sister.”
I looked down at our joined hands.
“I love you, Jen.”
“I love you too.”
She hesitated.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Will you be his godmother?”
For several seconds I couldn’t speak.
“Not because you’re wealthy,” she added quickly. “Because you built your life yourself. Because you didn’t become cruel just because we were cruel to you. And because I want him to have someone like you in his life.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Four hours later, James Harrison Mitchell entered the world.
Six pounds, eight ounces.
Tiny.
Furious.
Perfect.
The first time I held him, his entire hand wrapped around one of my fingers.
Jennifer watched from the bed.
David sat beside her.
I had expected the moment to feel grand.
Instead it felt quiet.
A sleeping newborn.
A hospital room.
My sister exhausted beside me.
All the money in my life seemed strangely irrelevant.
Jennifer smiled.
“David and I were talking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
He laughed.
“We have another question.”
I looked between them.
Jennifer nodded toward James.
“When he’s older, would you teach him about business?”
“What do you mean?”
“Not force him into it,” David said. “Just show him what building something actually looks like.”
Jennifer continued.
“We grew up believing there was one respectable path. Good school. Good job. The right title. The right people.”
She glanced at me.
“I don’t want James thinking success only comes in one shape.”
I looked down at my nephew.
“I’d be honored.”
Jennifer smiled.
“We’re planning a christening and welcome party next month.”
I narrowed my eyes playfully.
“Am I invited?”
She winced.
“I deserved that.”
“Probably.”
“You’re not merely invited.”
She pointed weakly toward me.
“You’re the godmother. You’re helping plan it.”
I pretended to consider.
“What about the vibe?”
David laughed so loudly a nurse glanced through the doorway.
Jennifer covered her face.
“I am never escaping that sentence, am I?”
“Probably not.”
“Fine. The guest list will consist exclusively of people who love this baby.”
She lowered her hand.
“Starting with his annoyingly successful aunt.”
The party eventually took place two months later in the garden of my Hamptons property.
It was elegant without feeling staged.
White flowers, long tables, soft music, children running across the lawn while adults tried unsuccessfully to keep formal clothes clean.
My parents mingled with several of my business partners.
The first time Dad introduced me to someone that afternoon, I listened carefully.
“This is my daughter Emma.”
That was all.
No explanation.
No comparison.
No résumé.
Just my daughter.
It meant more than any praise he could have added.
Jennifer and David looked relaxed in a way I had not seen for months.
James slept through almost everything.
Late in the afternoon, I found Jennifer near the garden fountain with a glass of sparkling water in her hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not giving up on us.”
I looked toward our parents.
Dad was holding James while Mom adjusted the edge of the baby’s blanket.
“I came close.”
“I know.”
She looked down.
“I spent a long time thinking being successful meant making sure nobody could look down on me.”
She gave a small, embarrassed smile.
“And somehow I became the person doing the looking down.”
I did not tell her it was okay.
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