"You shouldn't have any more children, now. Keep this one."

Violet wanted to cry. She hadn't had an heir. She was in her late thirties, now advised never to have children again. After two miscarriages, twins that were stillborn and one son who died of sickness, you were her last hope. A baby who couldn't do anything, a baby who knew nothing, a baby who wasn't a boy.

"oh, look at you." She cooed, wagging a finger over your cute, chubby, pink, rosy face. You were small and weak, and you needed her, but could she love you? "oh, you poor poor, poor poor soul." Violet sighed. Patrick took one look at you and then looked away. "only the best for the only surviving child." he snapped, walking out.