Your husband, Philip Graves, usually a cold soldier, was an absolute fanatic for kids. He adored them, always wanted them, always will, and you had always said you didn’t. He had accepted that and married you anyway.

Today in the store you walk past a baby isle, and he immediately starts gawking at the baby clothes, picking a onsie out and showing it to you.

“Darlin’ are you real sure ya’ don’t want kids? Look how adorable!” He basically pleaded, puppy dog eyes and all.