My brother’s text buzzed in at about nine a.m. this Sunday morning, and it’s suspicious that I’m being summoned to my parent’s house. It’s even more suspect that my brother will be there, and if I had to guess, Winston will be there as well.

I dress carefully, choosing a loose-fitting blouse that conceals my growing stomach. At almost four months along, you can make out the bump of my baby in the right clothes at the right angle. And with everything on the line right now, I need to hide this pregnancy as long as possible.

At twelve thirty, I’m out the door and in the car, driving to my parent’s estate as my heart thumps in my chest.

Gamila opens the door for me and smiles. “Ms. Imogen.”

Well, at least she is no longer calling me by my last name. But, it still strikes me as ridiculous, every single time I come here now, that my parents have an actual housekeeper slash maid who lives with them. They’re grown people, they can’t take care of a few plates and a hamper?

Maybe living with Theo for so long has begun to rub off on me, in a good way.

“Thank you for being early, Imogen.” My mother doesn’t bother standing when I enter the formal living room. My father and two brothers are scattered about the room, all clicking away on their phones.

They don’t even bother saying hello.

“We needed to meet as a family to discuss Imogen’s promotion, and how we’re going to spin the divorce so that her taking the reins in human resources is the only news highlighted.” My father gets down to business.

There is no other way with him.

“Do we have a proposed start date for my new role?” I take out my phone, knowing that I will look unprepared if I don’t jot some things down.

“Imogen, we can iron all of that out later. Right now, we’re focusing on image control.” My father’s tone is the actual equivalent of a voice rolling its eyes.

Of course, we’re not here to talk about my new role, ideas I have for it, or even the compensation. Because I do plan on asking for the same salaries my brothers make, and the same vesting of stock that they have.

“Why can’t we just leak that he cheated, or stole from Imogen?” Alfie suggests, tapping away at his iPhone as if this family meeting isn’t important whatsoever.

“Yeah, I mean, we could paint him as the bad guy.” Winston shrugs. He looks equally nonplussed that we’re only discussing the fate of my personal and professional life here.

I want to react, want to have an outburst. But that won’t get through to them, so I use rationality. “The whole point was to not cause attention, to keep the divorce out of the public eye. Leaking information about Theo, or drawing attention to something like cheating, which is false, would only make it a bigger scandal.”

Alfie holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, you’re right.”

“Imogen, you’ve started legal processes to change your name back, correct?” My father asks this as if he wasn’t the one who called my own lawyer to start the paperwork.

“I have.” I nod.

Standing in this room with my most immediate family suddenly feels … toxic. They’re all discussing me as if I’m some problem to be handled. As if I’m not an integral part of the company, as if I haven’t dedicated the last eight years of my life to hiring quality employees, boosting morale, overseeing team changes and so much more. I bust my butt for our company, and yet, I’m never given the credit where it’s due.

The realization dawns on me, what Theo and Nicole have been saying for so many years. I’m looked at as less, simply because of my gender. My father rewards Alfie and Winston, sings their praises in the way only he can … while I’m tolerated with clipped sentences and mediocre promotions or raises.

And just like that … I kind of don’t want any of this. Maybe it took me leaving my husband to open my eyes, to see that they would never fully invite me back into the fold. Or perhaps I’d never been fully in the fold to begin with. Instead of welcoming me with open arms like a family should, comforting me, they were completely ignorant of my emotional or professional feelings.

I cradle my stomach, rubbing the small bump beneath my oversized clothes. My baby wasn’t even out in the world yet, and I knew that no matter what gender he or she was, I would be their champion.

The knowledge of my family’s dislike of me flooded my system and left me feeling … relieved. I was finally waking up, truly understanding that I didn’t need this. Any of this.

“You’ll figure out the best way to break this to the media, I’m sure of it. But now, can we please have a private meeting to discuss my reinstatement?” I speak directly to my father.

“Come on, Imogen, stop being so greedy. There is no class in it,” Winston scolds me.

I want to smack the overly-gelled hair right off his head. No really, I can practically feel the rage flow through me. They weren’t joking when they said that becoming a mother gives you strength you never knew you had.

“As I said earlier, there will be a time and place for that. This meeting was a waste, I suppose I’ll consult with our public relations representatives and hear out their best strategies. Leave me to it.”

No apology from Morgan Weston that he pulled us all here on a Sunday, away from our families or plans, to accomplish nothing. I have a feeling this was all just a power move to show us that he could gather us all at a moment’s notice with just the snap of his fingers.

My breath comes in aggravated huffs as I speed down the winding driveway.

“I think we’ve earned a celebratory milkshake,” I grumble to the tiny person in my belly.

And I squeak in shock as my baby gives me what feels like the first tiny kick. Must be just as excited as I am for the cookies and cream milkshake I’m about to devour.