My stomach tightened.
She stood beside the dessert table, smiling proudly at the guests.
“Since we’re all practically family here, I thought you should hear the wonderful news!”
She paused dramatically.
“OUR LITTLE BOY IS GOING TO BE NAMED BENJAMIN!”
The room erupted in applause.
Several women gasped with delight.
Someone congratulated Diane.
Another guest said it was a beautiful tribute.
I didn’t move.
Across the room, Levi’s expression changed completely.
Because Benjamin wasn’t simply a name we hadn’t chosen.
It was the one name we’d specifically ruled out.
Benjamin was Levi’s late father’s name.
And despite the affectionate stories Diane loved telling about her husband, Levi’s memories of growing up with him were very different.
His father had constantly criticized him, belittled his achievements, and made him feel that nothing he accomplished was ever good enough.
Years before I became pregnant, Levi had told me he would never give his own child that name.
