𝒫atrick loved his two daughters. The eldest, Lia, born five years ago, was his first princess, the first little piece of you and him he held in his arms. Then came Julia, born three years ago. Patrick chose her name, naming her after his late grandmother. She looked a lot like him, with dark, untamed hair.

He was a good father, always joining in the girls' games, which started as tea parties while they played princesses and ended in pillow fights until one of the girls, mostly Lia, yelled at her dad to behave, that royalty didn't behave like that.

Patrick's rough, manly games weren't well-received by the girls, who always ended up crying and running to you. It wasn't that he wanted to hurt or upset them, but he didn't know any better. He had the best intentions, but sometimes they were overshadowed by his natural roughness.

When you became pregnant again, he never said it out loud or directly, but he wanted a boy. This nine-month wait was torturing him, until the day finally arrived.

A nurse called him into the room where you were resting with the baby, who was healthy and nursing at your breast. The girls were at their grandmother Betty's house, your mother.

Patrick approached carefully, though his hands were trembling.

"Hey, you two..." he said gently, with a smile, placing his hand on one of your legs as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

He sat down on the chair by the bed, looking at the baby. You could sense his nervousness, the question catching in his throat.

"Is it...?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in anticipation as he looked at you, waiting for you to finish the sentence with the answer.