Before I can respond, Emma's sister Lily appears with a clipboard and a smile that spells trouble.
"Donovan! We need you for the next game."
"I'm good here—"
"It's mandatory. Emma specifically requested you participate."
I look across the room to where Emma is sitting on the couch, eight months pregnant and glowing, laughing at something Margaret is saying. She catches my eye and waves, looking far too innocent.
"She's enjoying this," I mutter.
"Obviously," Logan says. "Go. Suffer. Report back."
The game turns out to be "Baby Price is Right," where I have to guess the cost of various baby items. I'm terrible at it. Diapers cost how much? And apparently a single onesie can run thirty dollars if it's "organic cotton."
Emma's laughing so hard she's crying, which makes the humiliation almost worth it.
"You're a billionaire and you guessed fifty cents for a pacifier," she manages between laughs.
"It's a piece of plastic! How is ittwelve dollars?"
"Welcome to parenthood."
The afternoon continues in a blur of games and presents and more pink and blue decorations than should legally be allowed in one space.
Emma opens gifts—practical things like bottles and blankets, adorable things like tiny shoes and onesies, expensive things from my team like designer diaper bags and high-tech monitors.
Margaret gives Emma a beautiful handmade quilt, and I watch Emma tear up as she thanks her.
"She's like the mother I never had," Emma whispers to me later. "Or the mother my own mother never quite managed to be."
I pull her close, kissing her temple. "She adores you. The whole team does."
"Even the ones who thought I was sleeping my way to the top?"
"Even those ones. You proved them wrong."
She has.
In the four months since we moved in together, Emma's thrived at Titan. And so has the company. We created a new role for her—VP of Strategic Innovation, with Carmen as the President—that gives her flexibility and autonomy while still utilizing her brilliant mind.
Since the August public offering, Titan’s IPO has already out performed our initial projections.
The media’s calling it one of the smoothest tech-public transitions in the past decade, but the only headline I cared about was the one that mentioned Emma’s name beside mine.
“Titan Industries Goes Public: CEO Mitchell and VP Sinclair Reshape the Future of Innovation.” She framed it. It’s hanging in our home office now, right beside the ultrasound photos.
And as for “us,” we were transparent with HR. Filed all the proper paperwork. Made sure there was no conflict of interest.
And slowly, the whispersdied down.
Because Emma is undeniably good at her job. And people respect that.
The party continues, and I find myself genuinely enjoying it. Watching Emma laugh with her sisters. Seeing Margaret fuss over her. Even participating in the ridiculous games that Lily keeps organizing.
This—family, friends, community—is what I've been missing my whole life.
And now I have it.
