The Power Play
When the gifts had been opened and the laughter began to fade, Diane rose from her chair and tapped her glass for attention. Her voice sliced through the garden chatter.
“Before we finish,” she announced, “I think we should discuss something important — the baby’s name. Our first grandson”—she smiled sweetly at Mark, ignoring me entirely—“will be called Arthur. After his late grandfather.”
A hush fell over the guests. She didn’t ask. She declared.
I felt every gaze shift toward me. My palms trembled, but I kept my voice steady.
“That’s a thoughtful idea, Diane,” I said evenly. “But Mark and I have already chosen a name. We’ll share it when he’s born.”
It was polite. Firm. Final.
And it broke her.
