Ava and Elise, the eldest, looked like they were born wearing aprons and leading with warmth. Their bakery in Portland was drenched in sunlight and cinnamon—at least on Instagram. Ava posted long captions about food as memory. Elise shared customer stories. One post read: “We make things we wish we’d had.”
Their smiles were wide but carried weight—like women who had learned not to wait on anyone. In one photo, they were laughing behind the counter with Lucy, covered in flour. Justin hadn’t been there. He flagged Ava: heart type, but guarded. Elise: sharper. No.
Claire and Riley came next. Their startup was splashed across Forbes, TechCrunch, and podcasts with names like FoundHer. Claire coded. Riley pitched. Their photos were sharp-edged: blazers, neon signs, skyline selfies. One pinned post read: “Built from scratch. Nobody handed us anything.” Underneath, a thousand likes and two sharp comments from Lucy.
They looked invincible. Like girls who had taught themselves to be steel. Justin watched a clip of Riley onstage, saying, “Our company started with scarcity.” Claire didn’t speak much, but her gaze in every picture was cool and deliberate. He circled Claire’s name with a question mark. Riley, he left blank.