where-I didn’t tell my sister the name chosen for my unborn son because she used her BFF’s baby name for..

My Sister Stole a Baby Name — So I Gave Her a Fake One

Why I Kept the Name Secret

I didn’t tell my sister the name chosen for my unborn son because she used her BFF’s baby name for her daughter. My sister Delia and I are both pregnant right now. It’s her second baby and my first and we’re both having boys.

Delia is due 3 weeks before me. 3 years ago when Delia was pregnant with my niece, her best friend Maribel was pregnant at the same time.

For 8 months, Delia complained that she had no idea what to name her baby. Then, right before she gave birth, she suddenly had one, Juniper Rose. The day she announced it, Maribel called her crying.

Juniper Rose was the name Maribel had picked for her own baby girl, first and middle name, she told Delia over lunch months before.

Delia just shrugged. She said it’s first come, first served. She needed a name badly and Maribel had time to find another one.

Maribel never spoke to her again. So, this time, my husband Wade and I decided nobody would know anything, not even that we’re having a boy.

But, Delia started asking, “What’s your boy name?” Then, when she saw my face, she added, “Oh, and your girl name, too.” Like it was an afterthought.

I said no. She whined that sharing names is the fun part of being pregnant. I made up a couple of names on the spot and she rolled her eyes.

“Just tell me,” she said. I said no again. Then, she asked at Sunday dinner in front of the whole family.

That’s when my brother Silas laughed and said, “Nobody tell the baby name thief anything.”

The table went quiet. Delia’s face turned red. She asked me if that’s why I wouldn’t tell her.

She said I was holding something against her that she never did to me. My mom sighed and said, “Honey, just share it. If Delia uses it, everyone will know you picked it first.” I still said no. After that, my mom started calling me alone.

A Name Borrowed From a Bulldog

She stitches every grandbaby’s name on a blanket and she said she needed to start. “Just tell me,” she said.

“I won’t say one word to your sister. I promise.” I told Wade and he frowned.

“Your mom tells Delia everything,” he said. Then, he grinned. “Give her a fake one. Give her Winston.” Winston was his family’s old bulldog.

He snored like a lawnmower and died years ago.

His picture still hangs in my mother-in-law’s hallway.

So, I called my mom back and whispered, “Okay, if it’s a boy, it’s Winston Clay. Please don’t tell anyone.” 10 minutes later, she texted me, “Winston Clay, so handsome. Your secret is safe with me.” I took a screenshot.

A couple of weeks later, Delia stopped asking.

The Announcement

She was suddenly sweet to me. She even hugged me and said, “Sorry I pushed. We finally picked a name and we’re keeping it a surprise, too.” Then on a Tuesday night, Delia had her baby. At 6:00 a.m., a photo popped up in the family group chat.

A tiny baby in a striped hat. Under it, she wrote, “Welcome to the world, Winston Clay.”

I laughed so hard that Wade ran in from the kitchen thinking I was in labor. I didn’t even have to say anything. Delia posted the same photo on Facebook.

And my mother-in-law, who added my whole family after our wedding, commented first. She posted, “Oh my god, Winston? Like our bulldog Winston? Wade, did you tell them about him? I still have his picture hanging in the hallway.”

For about 30 seconds, nobody commented. Then Wade’s mother added, “He was such a sweet dog. Loudest snorer I’ve ever heard. Congratulations on the beautiful baby.” I stared at my phone. Then I completely lost it.

I laughed so hard I had to put the phone down because my stomach hurt. Wade came running from the kitchen.

“What?”

I pointed at the screen. He picked up my phone, read his mother’s comment, looked at Delia’s announcement, then looked at me.

“No.”

I nodded. “No.”

“She actually used it?”

“First and middle.”

He scrolled back up. “Welcome to the world, Winston Clay.”

Then back down to his mother’s comment.

“Your mom actually told her.”

I opened the screenshot I had saved weeks earlier: “Winston Clay, so handsome. Your secret is safe with me.”

Wade read it and sat on the edge of the bed laughing.

I know that sounds mean. My nephew had just been born. He was healthy. Delia was healthy. Those were the important things and I was genuinely happy about that.

But there was something almost perfect about what had just happened. My sister had spent weeks demanding to know my baby name. My mother had promised not to tell her.

Delia somehow got the exact first and middle name from mom and used it before I gave birth. And only after announcing it publicly did she discover she had named her son after a dead bulldog.

I didn’t comment on Facebook. I didn’t need to. My brother Silas did.

He replied under the baby photo: “Wait. Then, Winston?”

Mom responded immediately: “Silas, not now.”

That told him everything. My phone rang. Silas. He was already laughing when I answered.

“Tell me this is the dog.”

“Yes.”

“The actual dead bulldog?”

“Yes.”

“You gave Mom Winston?”

“Winston Clay.”

There was silence. Then:

“You’re horrible.”

“Mom promised not to tell.”

“That makes it better.”

Behind me Wade shouted, “Clay made it classy.” Silas lost it again.

While we were talking, Wade’s cousin commented under the post: “The bulldog with the Christmas sweater?”

Then his aunt wrote, “I haven’t thought about Winston in years.”

And then my mother-in-law did exactly what I should have predicted. She posted a picture.

Winston was sitting on an old floral couch wearing a red bandana, one ear folded backward, looking deeply disappointed with life.

Under the photo she wrote, “The original Winston.”

Wade covered his face. “This is the best thing that has ever happened.”

Delia Calls

“You have a son coming in a few weeks.”

“Second best.”

Then my phone rang. Delia. The laughter stopped. I stared at the screen.

Wade said, “You don’t have to answer.”

“Yes, I do.”

I picked up. “Hey.”

She didn’t say hello.

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“Winston is a dog?”

There it was.

“Yes. Winston was Wade’s family dog.”

“You gave me a dog’s name.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Her voice jumped. “Yes, you did.”

“When?”

“You told Mom.”

“I told Mom a name Wade and I were supposedly considering for our baby.”

“You knew she would tell me.”

“No, she specifically promised me she wouldn’t.”

Silence. Then Delia said, “You set me up.”

“I never told you anything.”

“You knew I would hear it.”

“I suspected Mom might tell you. I did not make you name your child Winston Clay.”

“You knew what I would do.”

I sat up. That sentence was almost unbelievable.

“Did I?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. Explain it.”

She didn’t, so I did.

“You mean I knew that if you found out the name you believed Wade and I had chosen for our unborn child, you might use it before I could?”

“That isn’t what happened.”

“Then what happened?”

“I liked the name.”

“How did you hear it?”

She paused. “Mom told me.”

“So, yes. That’s exactly what happened.”

“You weren’t even sure you were having a boy.”

Everything inside me stopped. Wade saw my face change.

“What did you just say?”

Delia went quiet.

“How did you know that?”

“Nothing.”

“Delia.”

She sighed. “Mom said you were having a boy.”

Wade’s smile disappeared. Only our parents knew.

We had told them after the anatomy scan because Mom begged, and she had promised not to tell anyone. Apparently, she had been doing a lot of promising.

“What exactly did Mom tell you?”

“She said you were having a boy. She said you were being ridiculous about keeping everything secret.”

“And she said the name was Winston Clay.”

“When?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

Of course. Two weeks earlier, Delia had suddenly stopped asking. She had hugged me and said, “Sorry I pushed. We finally picked a name, and we’re keeping it a surprise, too.”

I had actually believed she had decided to respect my boundary.

“You already knew you wanted Winston when you said that to me.”

“We were considering it.”

“First and middle?”

“Clay sounded good.”

“Because you thought Wade and I had already put them together.”

“No.”

“Then you independently chose the exact first and middle name Mom told you was mine?”

Delia snapped, “You can’t own a name.” I laughed once.

Not because it was funny anymore. Because I had heard those exact words three years earlier when Maribel called her crying.

Juniper Rose had been the name Maribel had chosen for her daughter. First and middle. And Delia had said, “You can’t own a name.” First come, first served.

“I’m not saying I own Winston.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“My problem is that you believed it was my son’s name and used it anyway.”

“But it was fake.”

“You didn’t know that.”

That shut her up for a few seconds. Then she said, “You did this to humiliate me.”

“No. If Mom kept her promise, nothing happened.”

“You knew she wouldn’t.”

“No, Wade thought she wouldn’t. I defended her.”

Delia’s breathing changed.

I could tell she was crying.

“I just gave birth and now everybody is laughing at my baby’s name.”

That took the humor out of it.

“I’m not laughing at your baby.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Your baby did nothing wrong.”

“You think his name is a joke?”

“I think what you did is ridiculous. That’s different.”

She hung up. Wade sat beside me.

“Your mom told her the sex, too.”

“Yes.”

A Promise Broken

“That’s worse.”

“I know.”

My phone rang again. Mom. I let it ring once. Then a text appeared: “Please call me before this gets worse.”

I called. She answered immediately.

“You need to apologize to your sister.”

For a second, I thought I had misheard her.

“For what?”

“Don’t do that. Delia just had a baby.”

“She’s exhausted, emotional, and now people are making fun of the name.”

“I haven’t said anything publicly.”

“You gave me a fake name because you knew I would tell her.”

“No. Wade thought you might tell her. You promised me you wouldn’t.”

“I was trying to help.”

“Who?”

“Both of you.”

“How did telling Delia my secret help me?”

Mom sighed.

“She was hurt that you didn’t trust her.”

“So, you proved I shouldn’t trust you either?”

“That’s unfair.”

I opened her text.

“Did you send me ‘Your secret is safe with me’?”

Silence.

“Yes.”

“And then you told her.”

“I didn’t think she would use it.”

I stared at the wall.

“You told the woman who used her best friend’s exact baby name the exact name I asked you not to tell her because you thought she wouldn’t use it.”

“The Maribel situation was years ago.”

“Apparently not long enough.”

“She liked Winston.”

“That makes it worse.”

Mom got quiet. Then I said, “And you told her we were having a boy.”

“She already suspected. So, she’s your sister.”

“Why did you promise not to tell if you thought she had a right to know?”

No answer.

Then I asked, “When Delia told you she liked Winston Clay, why didn’t you warn me?”

That changed her tone. Mom knew she had told Delia. She knew Delia liked the name. She knew I believed the secret was safe, and she let me keep believing it.

“I was hoping she would pick something else,” she said quietly.

“So was I.”

She started crying.

“I’m sorry. I waited. I shouldn’t have told her.”

“No.”

“And I shouldn’t have told her it was a boy.”

“No.”

“I thought I was helping.”

“You weren’t.”

“I know.”

That mattered. Then Mom asked, “What is the real name?”

I actually pulled the phone away from my ear. When I put it back, she immediately said, “Okay. Stupid question.”

“You’ll know when he’s born.”

There was a pause. Then, “Okay. No argument.”

That was new.

For the next hour, I stayed off Facebook. Wade did not. Delia eventually deleted the announcement with Winston Clay and reposted the baby photo without a name. Comments were turned off.

I felt bad for her. I really did. But every time guilt started creeping in, I imagined myself opening the family group chat three weeks later and seeing my actual baby name under Delia’s son.

The Family Finds Out

That was what she thought she was doing. Her embarrassment was apparently unacceptable. Mine would have been something I was expected to get over.

Around lunchtime, Delia’s husband Evan called Wade. Wade put him on speaker. Evan sounded exhausted.

“Can somebody explain what the hell is going on?”

“What did Delia tell you?” I asked.

“That you gave her a fake name to humiliate her.”

“No.”

“She says Winston was Wade’s dog.”

“My parents’ dog,” Wade corrected.

I ignored him. “I never told Delia the name.”

There was a pause. “Then where did she get it?”

“My mom.”

A longer pause. “Oh.”

That told me Delia had skipped that part. I asked, “What did she tell you about where Winston Clay came from?”

Evan hesitated.

“She said she heard it somewhere and liked it.”

I looked at Wade. “She knew Mom told her Wade and I were supposedly naming our son Winston Clay.”

Silence. Then, “So she did it again.”

Evan knew about Maribel. He and Delia had already been together when that happened.

“I’m not trying to start something between you.”

“You didn’t.” He sounded angry now. “She did.”

He hung up soon after. Later Evan texted Wade something that made the situation worse. He said Delia had always told him Maribel had merely mentioned Juniper Rose and had not really chosen it.

That wasn’t true. Maribel had picked both names. She had told Delia directly.

Apparently Delia had spent 3 years rewriting that story, too.

That afternoon Silas sent me a screenshot. Delia had messaged him:

Delia:“Did you know she gave Mom a fake name?”

Silas:“No. But I knew Winston was a dog, so the announcement was confusing.”

Delia:“You think this is funny?”

Silas:“I’m glad the baby is healthy.”

Then, separately: “Yes.”

She blocked him.

I told him to stop making things worse.

He said, “She messaged me first.”

I told him, “Then be quiet second.”

For once he listened. The family group chat went almost completely silent. There was a newborn in the family and nobody knew what to say.

Mom finally wrote, “Baby and Mom are both doing well. Please focus on that.”

Dad added, “That’s what matters.”

I wrote, “Glad you’re both healthy. He’s beautiful.” Delia didn’t answer.

That evening Wade’s mother called me. She sounded horrified.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“I really thought they named him after Winston.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t have posted that picture.”

“You did nothing wrong. I embarrassed her. She thought she was using our baby name.”

Silence.

Then, “Oh.”

A moment later, “Oh.” That second one sounded different.

I asked her not to post anything else. She promised. Then she added, “But she has some nerve.”

I laughed. “Okay, now you’re done.”

“I’m done.”

The next morning Mom came over carrying a white shopping bag. She pulled out a folded baby blanket.

The Embroidered Blanket

Blue stitching ran around the edge. In one corner, perfectly embroidered, were the words Winston Clay.

I stared at it. Wade made a choking noise behind me. I turned around. “Don’t.”

He covered his mouth. Mom looked miserable.

“I already started it.”

I touched the letters. “So you were making this while I still believed the secret was safe.”

“I know.”

She sat at the kitchen table.

“I came to apologize properly.”

“You already apologized.”

“Not for all of it.”

I sat across from her. Mom looked at the blanket.

“When Delia called me, she kept saying you were treating her like you thought she was a thief.”

I looked at the embroidery. Mom followed my eyes. “Yeah.”

For the first time, the absurdity seemed to hit her completely.

“She said she felt excluded.”

“And you gave her the secret.”

“Yes.”

“Then she told you she liked it.”

Mom looked down.

“When?”

“The same day.”

I stared at her. “You knew immediately?”

“She said it sounded perfect.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you’d be furious that I told her.”

That was finally the real answer. Mom had not stayed quiet to protect Delia. She had stayed quiet to protect herself.

I leaned back. “So, you knew it could become a problem and hoped it wouldn’t.”

“Yes.”

I didn’t like the answer, but at least it was honest.

Mom said, “I’m sorry. I believe you.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

She looked relieved. Then I added, “But I still won’t tell you the real name.”

Her face fell. “I understand.”

“That isn’t punishment.”

“I know.”

“Trust doesn’t reset because someone apologizes.”

“I know.”

She folded the Winston blanket. Wade immediately reached for it.

“I’ll keep that.”

“No.”

He pulled it toward himself. “It’s history.”

A Different Name for Delia’s Son

“It’s evidence.”

Mom laughed.

Three days after Delia gave birth, Evan made another family announcement: “After way too much discussion, we’d like to officially introduce Nolan Grant.”

Same baby, different name.

Mom sent hearts. Dad wrote, “Great name.” Silas, demonstrating remarkable survival instincts, simply wrote, “Welcome Nolan.”

I did the same.

“Nolan is beautiful. Congratulations.”

Delia didn’t respond.

Mom later told me Evan had insisted on changing the name. Delia wanted to keep Winston at first because changing it felt like letting me win.

Evan apparently asked, “What exactly did she win?” Delia did not have an answer.

Nolan had been on their original list.

Grant was Evan’s grandfather’s name. It was personal, normal, and as far as anybody knew, not borrowed from someone else. The next day Delia sent me a long message.

She said I humiliated her, that I knew what would happen, that I used something from years ago to punish her, that because of me she had to change her son’s name after announcing it.

I answered, “You changed it because you chose a name you believed belonged to my unborn baby and then discovered it wasn’t real.”

She replied, “You set the trap.”

I wrote, “And you stepped into it voluntarily.”

She answered, “You knew I would.”

I stared at that sentence, then typed, “You keep saying that like it makes you look better.”

No response.

A few minutes later: “It was just a name.”

I replied, “Then why did you need mine?”

She stopped answering.

A few days later I received a message from Maribel. I had not spoken to her in years. Someone had apparently sent her a screenshot before Delia deleted the original announcement.

Her message said, “Please tell me this is real.”

I hesitated, then replied, “Unfortunately.”

She asked whether Winston had really been my baby name. I told her the truth.

“No, it was fake. We gave it to Mom because we thought Delia might do what she did to you.”

The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.

Finally: “So she finally stole the wrong name.”

That was all.

No speech, no desire to reconnect with Delia, no celebration, just that.

Then she wrote, “Please don’t tell her I messaged you. I don’t want back in that mess.”

I promised I wouldn’t. And unlike Mom, I kept the promise.

As my due date got closer, Winston became less important. Being nine months pregnant has a way of rearranging priorities. My ankles disappeared.

Sleeping became an engineering project. Wade somehow managed to steal one of my four pillows every night and deny it every morning. Mom checked on me daily.

To her credit, she never asked the name again. She made another blanket. This one had little blue stars around the edge.

No name. She showed it to me.

“I’ll add that later.”

“Good plan.”

“I deserved that.”

“Yes.”

She smiled. We were okay, but I noticed the difference.

Before Winston, when Mom asked something private, I answered without thinking. After Winston, I first decided whether I cared if Delia eventually heard it.

That was the consequence Mom had not expected. I forgave her.

The Name We Actually Chose

She just didn’t automatically get access anymore. Exactly 3 weeks and 4 days after Nolan was born, I went into labor. Wade panicked in stages.

First, he insisted I seemed too calm to really be in labor. 20 minutes later, he wanted to drive to the hospital immediately. Then he loaded the wrong bag into the car.

Then he forgot his wallet.

At some point I told him if he asked me one more time whether I was sure, I was naming the baby Winston out of spite. That fixed him. Our son was born the next morning, healthy, loud, red-faced, completely furious about his change in living arrangements.

Wade cried first. Then I did. When they put him on my chest, his name stopped feeling like something we were protecting.

It was just him.

Miles Everett.

Miles because we both loved it. Everett because it had been Wade’s grandfather’s middle name. Nothing dramatic, nothing borrowed.

After things settled down, Wade took a picture of me holding him. I looked terrible. I did not care.

We sent it to the family group: “Meet Miles Everett.”

Mom responded first: “He’s perfect. I love you all.”

Dad: “Beautiful boy.”

Then Silas: “Miles?”

Another message: “I lost $20.”

Mom: “Silas.”

Wade: “He was betting on Winston, too.”

I laughed. Then Delia responded: “Congratulations. He’s beautiful.”

Nothing about the name. I wrote, “Thank you.”

Later that night, she texted privately: “So, Miles was really the name?”

“Yes.”

“Mom didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Not even at the end?”

“No.”

There was a pause. Then, “I guess you really didn’t trust anyone.”

I wrote, “Wade knew.”

She didn’t respond. It was a little sharp. It was also true.

A week later, Delia and Evan sent a gift for Miles. Clothes, a stuffed fox, a card: “Welcome to the family, Miles.”

“Love, Uncle Evan, Aunt Delia, Juniper, and Nolan.”

I thanked them. Delia sent a heart.

That became our relationship for a while. Civil, functional, not warm, not hostile. We exchanged baby pictures. We talked about sleep and feeding. We did not talk about trust.

And honestly, that was fine with me. I did not need some dramatic reconciliation.

The Next Pregnancy

I needed the lesson to stick. A few months later, I found out that it had.

My cousin Beth announced she was pregnant. At Sunday dinner, everyone congratulated her. Mom asked whether they knew the sex yet. Beth said no.

Then Delia smiled. “Have you picked names?”

Beth laughed. “A couple.”

“What are they?”

Beth shook her head.

“We’re not telling.”

Delia looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, we’ll announce when the baby is born.”

“Oh, come on, you can tell family.”

Beth smiled. “Nope.”

The table got quiet. Not dramatically, just enough. Delia noticed. Her smile faded.

“What?”

Nobody answered. Then Silas said, “Come on, Delia.”

That was all.

He did not mention Winston. He did not mention Maribel. He didn’t need to.

Delia’s face turned red. “I’m not going to steal her name.” Beth immediately said, “I didn’t say you would.” Which somehow made it worse.

Mom suddenly became very interested in her potatoes. Dad took a drink. I said nothing because this had nothing to do with me.

And that was why it mattered. Beth had made the decision on her own. She knew the stories.

Everybody did. Delia had spent years insisting the Maribel situation was meaningless. Then Winston happened.

Now, nobody wanted to be the next experiment. Later, while Wade and I were putting Miles into his car seat, Delia came outside.

“Did you tell Beth not to tell me?”

“No.”

She looked skeptical. “I didn’t.”

“Then why is she acting like that?”

“Ask her.”

“You know why.”

I tightened Miles’s strap. “Then why are you asking me?”

Delia crossed her arms. “This is exactly what I mean. You made me into the family joke.”

I looked at her. “I didn’t give you Maribel’s name.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t give you Winston.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t tell Beth to hide her name.”

No answer.

“You keep acting like I created your reputation.”

“That dog story is why everyone thinks I’m going to steal names.”

“No, the dog story is why everyone believes Maribel.”

That landed. She looked at me for several seconds.

Then she said, “You enjoyed it.”

“Some of it was funny.”

“That’s not an apology.”

“I’m not apologizing for giving Mom a fake name.”

She turned to leave. I said, “Delia.”

She stopped.

“We don’t have to be enemies.”

She looked back. “I know.”

“But I’m not going to pretend nothing happened so you feel better.”

Her jaw tightened. Then she nodded once. “Fine.” And walked away.

Learning to Respect Boundaries

That was as close to a resolution as we ever needed. No hugs. No tears.

No speech about how much she had changed. Just fine. The strange thing was that she did change after that.

Not dramatically. She never contacted Maribel as far as I know. She still says Winston was a setup.

But when Beth eventually had her baby and announced the name afterward, Delia simply said it was beautiful.

When another cousin got pregnant, Delia did not ask for the name.

When Silas’s wife later announced she was expecting, Delia joked, “I assume I’m on a need-to-know basis.”

Silas said, “You’ll meet the kid eventually.”

She rolled her eyes. But she laughed. That was probably as much growth as anyone was going to get.

Mom changed, too.

If I told her something and said, “Don’t tell anyone yet,” she answered, “Okay.” And nobody else knew.

Trust came back slowly. Delia never got the same access. That wasn’t revenge. It was just the natural result of knowing how she handled information.

Months later, Mom gave Wade the original blanket. Winston Clay. She had kept it.

Wade was delighted. I was not. Two weeks later, we visited his parents.

Under the framed photograph of Winston, the bulldog in their hallway, was the embroidered blanket. Winston Clay. Wade’s mother thought it was hilarious.

I made her promise not to put it online. She didn’t. Eventually, Delia saw it at Miles’ first birthday.

She walked down the hallway, stopped, looked at the picture, then at the blanket.

“Wade!”

He shouted from the kitchen, “Yes?”

“I hate you.”

He called back, “Winston would have loved you.”

I expected her to get angry. Instead, she shook her head and laughed.

Our kids obviously know nothing about any of this. Nolan and Miles play together.

Juniper bosses both of them around. At family gatherings, the kids steal toys from each other constantly.

The first time Nolan grabbed something from Miles and refused to return it, Silas opened his mouth.

Delia pointed at him. “Don’t.”

He closed it. Smart man.

Recently, Delia mentioned that she and Evan might eventually want a third child. Mom smiled.

A New Family Tradition

“That would be wonderful.”

Silas immediately asked, “Do you have names?”

Delia looked at him. “No.” Then, “And if we do, none of you are hearing them.”

I said, “That sounds like a very good idea.”

She looked at me. “Don’t act like you invented keeping names secret.”

“I didn’t.”

Silas asked, “Who did?”

I thought about Maribel telling her best friend Juniper Rose because she thought it was safe.

I thought about Winston Clay, a dead bulldog, a broken promise, a deleted birth announcement, and Nolan, who ended up with a completely different name because his mother finally stole the wrong one.

“Maribel probably did.”

Delia gave me an annoyed look. She didn’t argue.

Delia and I aren’t enemies. We talk. Our kids play together.

We sit at the same table on Sundays. But she doesn’t know my secrets anymore. And Mom only knows them when I’m willing to take the risk.

The funniest part is that Winston accidentally created a new family tradition. Since Nolan was born, every pregnant woman in our family has done the same thing. They pick the name.

They keep it between themselves and their partner, and everyone else finds out when the baby arrives. Delia says we’ve all become paranoid. Maybe.

But nobody has had their baby name stolen since.