After Sarah Jenkins and I had stabilized the company, I sold a small minority portion of my equity to a reputable regional investment fund, keeping enough voting stock to protect my interests permanently, and I put in place a profit-sharing plan for the warehouse and manufacturing staff — the people whose hands actually built the furniture — so that the company would never again be run like a little feudal kingdom where a man’s last name mattered more than an honest day’s work.

Beatrice never spoke the words male heir in my presence again.

The last time I saw her, she was placing the old gold signet ring back into its velvet box, and Maya, watching, asked her innocently, “Grandma, was that ring supposed to be Mateo’s?” Beatrice swallowed, and nodded.

“Yes, sweetie.” And Maya considered this, and then gave a bright, guileless little smile.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t give it to him,” she said.

“It would’ve been way too big for his hand anyway.” I had to turn my head so my daughter would not see me laugh.