Rob, weve got a girl£3,500! Gilly shouted into the receiver, her voice cracking with joy.
I stood beneath the tall windows of StThomass Maternity Ward, waving at my wife as she cradled the newborn. Its a daughter, Im a father! Gilly, what about the boy they promised us? I yelled, halflaughing, halfpleading.
Silence hung in the line, then Gillys whisper drifted back: They mustve messed up.
I turned away, weaving past jubilant dads sketching hearts on the pavement, releasing helium balloons into the grey sky, past polished cars and clusters of kith and kin gathered around them. All my life Id imagined a sonan heir, a continuation of the line. While Gilly waddled around in her baby bump, I painted scenes of our future: us kicking a ball in the back garden, us out on the lake with a rod, trading banter, hauling home a prize catch for mum, then evenings around the kitchen table, recounting the days victories with my son sitting beside me, my pride reflected in his eyes.
Gilly had struggled for years to conceive. Wed toured clinics, even seen the nations most renowned specialist, a true luminary of obstetrics. It took five long years before she finally delivered the news.
Robare you hearing me? a voice called from behind. I spun to see Pete, my university mate, leaning against the brick wall.
How long has it been? How are you? he asked, his breath visible in the chill.
Just got back to Mums, a bit under the weather, need to look after her. Shes on her own now; Dads been gone five years. He shrugged. And you?
Just left the hospital, wifes just had a girl.
Congratulations! Why arent you smiling? Pete grinned, his eyes lighting up.
He gestured toward a nearby café. Come on, lets step inside, have a word. You were waiting for a lad, werent you? All of us kidhunters, hoping for a little heir. I was in the same boat, prepping for a son, and thenshe gave me a daughter.
What about yours? Did she come with you? Pete lowered his gaze, the smile fading.
A hollow look settled over him, the kind that carries a universe of loss. Im alone now. No family left. Its not the right time to chat, youve got your joy.
Something happened? I asked.
A crash I dont want to talk about it. Ive been on my own a year. Thinking of moving back to Mums for good, finding work, fixing up my flat. He sighed.
We lingered, swapping stories of student nights, mutual friends, future plans. I handed him my number, telling him he could call any hour. The night grew thick with unspoken sorrow, yet also with the strange comfort of shared breath.
At dawn I rushed to the maternity windows, a massive bouquet of Gillys favourite peonies and a bunch of bright balloons clutched in my arms. Gilly! I cried, hearing her voice crackle through the handset.
Forgive me! Im over the moon about our longawaited daughter! Does she look like anyone? she asked, breathless.
Like you, Robabsolutely you! I replied, halfjoking.
Really? I felt like a mess yesterday
Dont worry, I get it she cut me off, her tone softening. Our little girl is healthy, calm, she eats, sleeps and even smiles in her sleep. Theyll discharge us soonyoull see for yourself.
Years later, the birth was hard, and its toll lingered in her health. Two decades passed, and our daughter grew into a brilliant, striking young woman, the pride of our lives. Pete became her godfather. I still thank him for that night, for the conversation that opened my eyes and taught me to value and love everyone standing beside me now.
