ROBERT

Dad.

My throat felt tight. I could barely speak. I nodded, my hands shaking as I took the scissors. With a snip, I cut the cord, and the midwife passed our crying daughter to one of the nurses to get her cleaned up.

Renee loosened her grip on my hand. This time, when she laughed, it sounded much better. I fought back the tears threatening to spill as I watched our daughter's tiny, messy form get wiped down.

“A girl,” I whispered, the word feeling surreal on my lips. “You hear ...