Chapter 3

When I opened the door, Tessa stood there holding a printed photograph against her chest. At ten, she still wore glitter sneakers with formal dresses. One silver lace had come undone, and a smear of blue frosting marked the corner of her mouth.

"Mom, are you sick?"

Behind her, Brielle stood near the control-room entrance with a headset over her hair.

"I'm fine." My voice sounded almost normal. "We need to go home."

"But you haven't seen my video."

Tessa held up the photograph. It had been taken in my father's garage ten years ago, when we returned there to mark our first major expansion. Dad stood beside a folding worktable, raising the brass key toward the camera. Mom held baby Tessa against her shoulder. Gavin and I stood behind several boxes from our first product line, both too tired to smile properly.

"Why did Dad take Grandma and Grandpa out?" Tessa asked.

I looked at Gavin.

He exhaled. "We didn't take anyone out."

"They were in my first video. Then Brielle's team changed it."

Brielle adjusted something on her headset. She did not look surprised by the photograph.

"Why?" I asked Gavin.

"The opening was crowded. We simplified it."

"My parents gave us that garage."

"And they'll be thanked elsewhere."

"My mother raised Tessa while we worked."

"No one is denying that."

The stage manager appeared at the end of the hall and lifted three fingers. Gavin buttoned his jacket. "We can discuss the edit later." He kissed the top of Tessa's head and headed for the stage.

I wanted to take my daughter by the hand and leave. Then I imagined my parents at home, waiting to see their key. Dad had polished it that afternoon before giving it to me.

The livestream music swelled.

On a monitor, Gavin walked into the light alone.

"Good evening," he said, smiling into the camera. "Maren isn't feeling well, so I'll be carrying this part of our story for both of us."

My fingers tightened around the deleted photograph. Gavin spoke about sacrifice, risk and the night one impossible idea had turned into the company we had built. Then he reached into his pocket and held up the brass key.

"Fifteen years ago, I began in an empty garage with no money, no connections and one idea nobody believed in."

I walked onto the stage.

His smile held, but his eyes changed. The host turned toward me. "Maren, what a surprise."

"My father owned that garage," I said.

The comment feed raced along the confidence monitor. Gavin reached for my hand. "As I was saying, my wife and her family gave me everything."

I pulled my hand away.

"My father provided the building. My mother took care of our daughter. I designed our first product and packed our first orders."

Gavin gave the audience a tired, affectionate smile.

"Maren has always been emotional about those early years."

The brass key flashed between his fingers.

I took it from him.

"I didn't give you the company," I said. "We built it together."

Silence spread through the studio.

I crossed to the playback station, ejected the drive containing the anniversary video and closed my fist around it. The livestream cut to the company logo. Gavin waited until the host's microphone was off. Then he leaned close enough that only I could hear him.

"You just gave me a reason to explain your condition."