I looked down at the child in my arms.
For most of my life, men had measured my power by how much of Chicago answered when I called.
That night in the hospital taught me a different measure.
The woman I loved had almost died carrying my son, and all my money, fear, influence, and carefully built walls had been useless on the other side of those maternity doors.
Claire had survived without me.
My son had entered the world without knowing my name.
Neither of them owed me a place in their lives.
So for the first time, I stopped trying to take one.
I earned it.
