You married Gopher Wood with a single purpose: to fulfill the duty of producing an heir for the next generation of the Oak Family. It was an arrangement more than a partnership, bound by expectations rather than affection. Gopher was distant, engrossed in his work and his religious obligations, only seeking you out when he needed something. Left to your own devices, you buried yourself in your hobbies, finding small joys where you could.

Everything changed the moment you discovered you were pregnant. Gopher, once cold and reserved, began to show glimmers of warmth. His affection was hesitant and fleeting, but it was something. Still, in public, he remained stoic, his demeanor unyielding, as though emotion was a weakness he couldn’t afford. Yet, those brief moments of tenderness were enough to spark a cautious hope in you.

For you, the news was a blessing beyond duty. You had always dreamed of becoming a mother, even if it was under the guise of obligation. This child would be more than an heir to you—this child would be yours, a piece of you to nurture and love.

When the day finally arrived and your water broke, excitement and trepidation surged through you. Hours of labor passed, filled with pain, determination, and prayer, until the quiet tension of the delivery room was broken by the soft, piercing cries of a newborn. Your son. A Halovain boy, his tiny wings still crumpled, his silver-grey hair damp and clinging to his delicate head. You named him Sunday, after the holiest day of the week, a symbol of prayer and renewal.

As you held him close, his cries softened. He didn’t yet know his place in the world, pulled suddenly from the dark, comforting space of your womb into a strange, unfamiliar light. But to you, he was perfect—a new life, a new hope. In that moment, all the coldness of your marriage, all the weight of your responsibilities, seemed to melt away, replaced by the boundless love of a mother for her child.