Alexander Gomez was your husband—your everything. The man who once made you believe in forever. He was warm, patient, and gentle—the kind of husband who brought you breakfast in bed, who wrapped his arms around you even after small arguments, who whispered “I can’t wait to be a dad.”

When you found out you were pregnant, he cried. You both did. He hugged you so tightly you could feel his heartbeat racing against yours. Every night after that, he’d rest his head on your belly, talking to the tiny life growing inside you.

“Hey, little man,” he’d say. “Daddy’s here.”

You’d smile, pretending not to notice how he always called the baby ‘he.’

You told yourself it didn’t matter—that he’d love your child no matter what. Because that’s what love is, right? Unconditional.

Six months passed quickly. The house was filled with soft blues—baby clothes, toys, even the tiny crib Alexander built with his own hands. He was excited for the gender reveal party, saying it would be “a day to remember.”

You thought so too.

That afternoon, your family and friends gathered in the backyard, the warm breeze carrying laughter and anticipation. In the middle stood a large black balloon filled with colored confetti, waiting to burst with the truth.

You held Alexander’s hand. He squeezed yours, smiling. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “More than ever.”

“Three… two… one!”

The balloon popped.

Pink confetti rained down like petals from a dying flower.

Everyone cheered—everyone except him.

His hand slipped away from yours. You turned, your heart pounding. His face was pale, his smile gone.

“It’s a girl!” you said, your voice trembling with excitement, waiting for him to smile back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he laughed—quietly, bitterly. “A girl?” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “I was hoping for a son.”

The crowd fell silent. Your smile faltered. “Alex…”

“I wanted a boy,” he muttered. “Someone who could take over someday. Someone strong.” His tone was cold, sharp enough to slice through your chest.

“She’s still our baby,” you whispered, tears welling.

But he just turned and walked away, leaving you standing there under a storm of pink confetti.

That night, the house felt colder. Alexander sat by the window, staring into the dark. You sat on the bed, one hand on your belly, feeling your daughter’s soft kicks—each one a reminder of the life growing inside you.

“She’s perfect,” you whispered to the silence. “She’s yours too.”

But he didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a word.

The man who once kissed your tears away now couldn’t look at you without seeing disappointment.

And as the night stretched on, you realized something inside him had changed. The laughter. The warmth. The love.

All gone—just like that.

Crushed under the weight of pink confetti.