My husband’s family spent the whole reunion insulting me — they laughed at my clothes, mocked my business, called me a burden, and said I’d never amount to anything without him. Then my jet landed…

Three years of 18-hour workdays, of setbacks and breakthroughs, of moments when I nearly gave up. But through it all, Marcus remained my rock. He believed in me when no one else did, took on extra work so I could focus on my company, and never once complained when our apartment became command central for my small but growing team.

And now, here we were, back at the Thompson family reunion. We hadn’t attended for the past two years, partly because I was too busy, but mostly because I couldn’t face them after that disastrous birthday dinner. But this year was different.

This year, I had something to prove. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, I admitted to Marcus as we pulled up to the estate’s gate. He squeezed my hand.

You don’t have to prove anything to them, you know? I know, I said, but I want to. As we walked across the lawn toward the gathered family, I could feel their eyes on me. Vivian broke away from her conversation with a society friend and approached.

Us? Her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Marcus, darling, we’ve missed you these past two years. She air-kissed his cheeks before turning to me with a cooler reception.

Aisha? I see you’re still… together. Happier than ever, mother, Marcus replied, his arm firmly around my waist. How lovely, she said, her tone suggesting it was anything but.

And your little business venture, Aisha? Still chasing that dream? I smiled. It’s going quite well, actually. Is it? She asked with faux interest.

How nice for you to have a hobby. Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the message and couldn’t help but smile.

Excuse me for a moment, I said. I need to take this. I stepped away to make a call, and as I returned, I heard Vivian continuing her subtle digs to Marcus.

Christopher Preston was asking about you, you know. His investment firm is doing exceptionally… well, such a shame you turned down that opportunity to join him. I’m doing just fine where I am, mother, Marcus replied.

Are you really? His father joined in. Working at that startup with Aisha instead of taking your rightful place in the family business? It’s not too late to come to your senses. Actually, I interrupted as I rejoined them.

Marcus doesn’t work for me. He’s our chief financial officer and owns 20% of the company, a company that closed its Series C funding round last month at a valuation of $80 million. The champagne glass in Vivian’s hand froze halfway to her lips.

You can’t be serious. Dead serious, Marcus replied. Aisha’s platform has over 2 million users now, and we’re expanding into international markets next quarter.

Bethany laughed nervously. You expect us to believe that you… She was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of jet engines. Every head at the reunion turned toward the sky.

Is that… is that a plane? Bethany asked, shielding her eyes from the sun. It wasn’t just any plane. It was a Gulfstream G650, and it was circling to land in the open field behind the Thompson Estate, the very field where, as a child, Marcus had dreamed of flying his own plane someday.

What in God’s name? Marcus’s father sputtered. I glanced at my watch. Right on time.

Aisha, Marcus whispered, his eyes wide. Did you… I nodded, unable to contain my smile. Happy anniversary, babe.

I know we said no big gifts this year, but I thought this one was appropriate for the occasion. As the jet touched down smoothly on the field, a stunned silence fell over the Thompson family. I took Marcus’s hand and began walking toward our new acquisition, calling over my shoulder.

We can’t stay long, I’m afraid. We have a meeting in Tokyo tomorrow morning, but we wanted to stop by and reconnect with family. The look on Vivian, Thompson’s face as we walked away was everything I had dreamed of for three long years.

But the pride in Marcus’s eyes? That was worth infinitely more. As we walked toward the jet, I felt their stares burning into my back. The cool grass beneath my feet reminded me of how I used to walk barefoot as a child in my grandmother’s yard in Lagos before we moved to America, grounded, connected to… something real.

Nothing about the Thompson’s ever felt real. Their world was built on appearances, on the right connections, on money so old they forgot someone once had to earn it. You didn’t have to do this, Marcus whispered, though the gleam in his eyes told me he was thrilled.

A private jet? Seriously? It’s not just for show, I replied, though we both knew that wasn’t entirely true. We’ve been chartering for months. The numbers made sense to buy instead.

The pilot greeted us at the base of the stairs. Ms. Okoye, Mr. Thompson, everything is prepared for your departure in 30 minutes. Behind us, I heard urgent whispers and the unmistakable click of designer heels rushing across grass.

Vivian Thompson, moving faster than I’d ever seen her move before. Marcus, she called, her voice straining to sound casual. Darling, you’re not really leaving so soon? Your cousins just arrived from Switzerland.

Marcus turned, his hand still, firmly in mine. I’m afraid we have to, Mother. The Tokyo meeting is critical for our Asia expansion…