— Thomas, it’s a girl! 3.5 kilos! — Claire’s voice trembled with emotion over the phone. I stood outside the maternity ward, heart pounding, watching my wife wave at me with a tiny bundle cradled in her arms.
— A girl? But… they told us it would be a boy!
There was a pause on the line. Then she whispered gently:
— Maybe they were wrong…
I slowly walked away, passing the excited fathers drawing hearts on the pavement, surrounded by ribboned cars, colorful balloons, and large, joyful families.
I had always carried this deep dream: to have a son. A boy to carry on my name, my passions, my values.
Throughout the pregnancy, I pictured us kicking a ball in the garden, fishing by the river, having long father-son talks…
I imagined growing old by his side, proud of the man he would become.
Claire and I had waited for this moment for years. After so many tests, doctor visits, and heartbreaks… Five years of waiting. And then one day, she told me, beaming:
— Thomas… we’re having a baby.
So yes, I had dreamed. Built up the image of a son, an heir.
But that day—I was lost.
— Thomas? Is that you?
I turned around, surprised by a familiar voice.
— Paul! Wow, it’s been ages!
— I’m here for my mom. She’s a little sick… And you?
— Just came from the maternity ward. My wife just had… a daughter.
— Congratulations! he said with a smile.
But he could tell something wasn’t right.
He suggested we grab a coffee at the nearby café. We ordered two espressos, just like in our college days.
— You were expecting a boy too, weren’t you?
I nodded.
— We all have that image of a little guy who looks like us. It’s natural. I went through the same thing. But my wife gave birth to a daughter. And I didn’t expect how much it would change me…
I looked at him, curious.
— Is she here with you?
His eyes dimmed. He lowered his head, his voice heavy.
— I’m alone now… They’re gone. A year ago. An accident.
I wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come.
— I’m sorry…
— That’s life, he said softly.
I’m moving in with my mom, planning to fix up her place, maybe change jobs.
We talked for a long time—about everything and nothing. Our school years, the people we’d lost touch with.
Before we parted, I gave him my number.
— Call me. Anytime.
The next morning, with a bouquet of peonies in one hand and a cluster of colorful balloons in the other, I returned to the hospital.
— Claire…
— Yes?
— I’m sorry. I’m overjoyed to be a dad. To our little girl. What’s she like?
— She looks exactly like you!
— Really? I was such an idiot yesterday…
— There’s nothing to forgive. You were just surprised.
She added gently:
— She’s doing great. Sleeping, eating, smiling in her dreams. You’ll meet her soon.
We never had more children. Her birth was complicated, and Claire faced lasting health issues.
But our daughter grew up full of life and wisdom.
Today, she’s a brilliant young woman—kind, radiant, beautiful inside and out. We’re incredibly proud of her.
And Paul? He became her godfather.
I often think back to that conversation—how it became a turning point.
It taught me to see what truly matters.
To love, without condition.
To welcome life as it comes.
And to never miss out on love—just because it arrived in a form I hadn’t imagined.
Ask ChatGPT