Mark was already planning for the future: Little League games, fishing trips, and “guy talk.” “What if it’s a girl?” Sarah asked cautiously one evening. “Not a chance,” Mark replied firmly.
“I’m meant to have a son, a legacy. If it’s a girl…” he paused, his tone turning sharp. “Well, let’s just say that’s not the plan.” He walked out of the room to tinker in the garage, leaving Sarah sitting at the kitchen table in stunned silence.
Eleanor walked in for a glass of water and immediately knew something was wrong. After Sarah tearfully explained what happened, Eleanor marched toward the garage. Sarah didn’t hear the specifics of the conversation, only the muffled sound of a heated argument behind the door.
When Eleanor returned, she looked exhausted, as if she had aged years in a single hour. She gave Sarah a sad smile and said that Mark just needed time—that he would love the baby no matter what. But the very next day, tragedy struck: Eleanor collapsed while out running errands.
The couple rushed to the hospital, where the doctor delivered a grim prognosis. It turned out Eleanor had been dealing with a heart condition she hadn’t told anyone about, and her state was critical. No one could say how much time she had left.
The pregnancy took a backseat as Mark spent every waking hour at his mother’s bedside. Sarah did her best to help, caring for Eleanor with everything she had. When the second ultrasound came around, Sarah went alone—Mark couldn’t leave the hospital, and Eleanor was too weak to move.
The technician moved the wand over Sarah’s belly, pointing out the tiny hands and feet, but Sarah could barely focus. Her heart sank when it was time to learn the gender. “Congratulations, it’s a girl! 98% certain,” the technician said with a bright smile.
The doctor kept talking, but Sarah felt like she was underwater. One word pulsed in her brain: “Girl.” To her, it felt like the end of her marriage.
She returned home pale and trembling, and Eleanor understood immediately. She sat Sarah down, made her some tea, and promised she would be there for her. Eleanor began telling stories of her own youth—how she had desperately wanted a daughter and cried when she found out she was having a boy, only to realize later that he was the light of her life.
That evening, Mark found them in the kitchen. Seeing them together, he mistakenly assumed the news was what he wanted to hear. He was joking and eating with an appetite Sarah hadn’t seen in weeks, completely oblivious to the tension.
“So, what are we naming the little guy?” he asked cheerfully. Eleanor wiped her mouth with a napkin and started slowly. “You know, Mark, when I was pregnant with you, I was convinced you were going to be a girl…”
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