In January 2014, I’m in a meeting with an all-male lineup of Facebook law enforcement experts when my water breaks. I Uber to the hospital and things get underway pretty fast. I get a message. Sheryl’s about to unexpectedly go into a meeting with the president of Brazil at Davos and she wants talking points. I’m in the delivery room, my feet in stirrups, in labor. I put down my phone and reach for my laptop. I start drafting. “What are you doing?” Tom asks. “Just getting Sheryl some talking points.” “Sarah, no.” I continue typing. He appeals to my doctor, a person he knows I deeply respect:
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