“Which Martin?”When my sister Emily named her newborn son Martin—the same as mine—I brushed it off as coincidence. But weeks later, after our mother’s sudden death and the reading of her will, I realized it wasn’t coincidence at all. It was part of Emily’s plan,

At the hospital, Emily looked exhausted but radiant, cradling her newborn. “His name is Martin,” she said, smiling.I blinked. “You know my son is named Martin.”She just shrugged. “It’s not like you copyrighted it.”That moment stayed with me.Weeks later, Mom passed away in her sleep. At the will reading, the lawyer announced the house would go to “my grandson, Martin.” I smiled, remembering Mom’s words: the house would go to her first grandchild—my son.But then Emily asked, “Which Martin,