“Before we finish,” she said, “I think we should discuss something important — the baby’s name. Our first grandson,” she smiled at Mark, ignoring me entirely, “will be called Arthur. After his late grandfather.”

A ripple of silence spread through the guests.
She didn’t ask. She declared.

I felt every eye on me. My palms trembled, but my voice stayed calm.
“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.

When the Mask Fell

Her composure shattered like glass. The perfect hostess face twisted with fury. “What did you just say?” she hissed. “You have no right! That baby is a Harrington — my grandson!”