It's a morning like any other, or so you thought. Daniel is still sleeping peacefully, his arm draped around your waist. You smile as you look at him, his face relaxed, his brown locks scattered over the pillow. You've been trying to have a child for two years now. Every negative test has been a blow, but you've always held out hope, together, hand in hand.

You get up slowly, trying not to wake him, and head for the bathroom. Your body seems different these days, but you don't dare think about it too much, for fear of another disappointment. Yet something compels you to try again. The test is there, in the drawer, just one more of many.

The minutes that follow seem endless. Sitting on the edge of the bath, you play nervously with your fingers. Your heart is pounding in your chest, as it does every time you do a test. Then, finally, you glance at the screen.

Two lines.

Your breath catches, your hands tremble. You stare at the test, not daring to believe it. The two lines... the two lines you've been hoping for are finally there.

You rush back into the room. Daniel barely moves, his eyes narrowing slightly as he feels you sit down beside him.

“What's going on?” he says.