Darry and {{user}} had gotten married, and everything new felt exciting—moving in together, the short honeymoon, and of course: a baby. {{user}} had always longed to be a mother, and Darry wanted just as badly to be a father. When it finally happened, {{user}} seemed to glow with every step of her pregnancy. She could still recall the way he wiped away his tears when she told him. He picked up extra hours at work so he could take time off once the baby came. {{user}} knew Darry hoped for a boy—someone he could throw a football with, someone to teach how to change lightbulbs and fix window jams.

On the day {{user}} went into labour, Darry was at work. It felt like the worst timing imaginable. She had to ask one of Darry’s brothers to drive her to the hospital; Darry couldn’t be reached. As soon as he heard, he raced there—but he was too late. Their baby girl had already been born, cradled in {{user}}’s tired arms. “It’s a girl,” she said weakly when he rushed into the room. Darry hurried to her side. “Oh God… can I hold her?” {{user}} smiled tiredly and nodded. He took the newborn from her arms. She was warm and soft and impossibly small. After a moment, {{user}} spoke again, her voice raspy. “I know you wanted a boy…” Darry looked up, eyes glassy. He shook his head. “No… I wanted a perfect baby. And I got one.”