DaughterShe stepped out onto the rain‑slick streets, clutching the crumpled letter that promised the secret her mother had kept for decades.

Tom, its a girl, 3.5kg! Galina exclaims into the receiver, her voice bubbling with joy.

I stand beneath the windows of StGeorges Maternity Hospital, waving at my wife, who cradles the newborn in her arms.

Its a daughter. Im a father! Gal, werent we supposed to have a boy? I shout, halflaughing, halfpleading.

Silence hangs in the line for a heartbeat, then my wife whispers,

I think theres been a mistake

I turn away and walk past the smiling dads chalking love notes on the pavement, past the clusters of bright balloons soaring into the sky, past the polished cars and the relatives gathering around them.

All my life I have dreamed of a sona heir, a continuation of the family line. While Gal was pregnant, I kept painting pictures of our future: us kicking a football in the back garden, us out on the riverbank with a rod in hand, swapping banter with the other blokes and bringing Mum a hefty catch, then, each evening, all of us gathered around the table, swapping stories about the day, with my son sitting beside me, my pride.

Gal took years to conceive. We saw specialists, even a renowned professor of obstetrics, and only after five long years does she finally share the good news.

Tommy, you hear that? a voice calls from behind. I swivel and see Pashka, my old university buddy.

How many winters have passed, old chap? he asks.

Just got back to Mum, catching a cold, need some rest. Shes on her own now; my fathers been gone about five years. How about you?

Just left the maternity ward. My wife just gave birth to a daughter.

Congratulations! And why arent you smiling?

He grins, shrugging.

Come on, lets pop into the café a few steps away, have a cuppa, catch up.

We slip inside, the scent of fresh coffee and scones filling the air.

So youve been waiting for a lad, eh? We all look forward to a boy, a successorthats normal. I was once in your shoes, gearing up to be a father to a son, only to welcome a girl.

By the way, hows your family? Did they all come?

Pashka drops his eyes, his silence heavy. When he looks up, his gaze carries the weight of a whole universe of hopelessness.

Im alone now, no family left. Tom, this isnt the right moment for me; youve got joy.

What happened?

An accident I dont want to talk about it. Ive been on my own for a year. Im thinking of moving back with Mum for good, finding work, fixing up the flat.

We linger over coffee, reminiscing about our student days, swapping stories about mutual friends, trading plans for the future. I hand him my number, telling him he can ring any time, day or night.

The next morning I race to the hospital windows with a massive bouquet of Gals favourite peonies and a bunch of helium balloons tied to my wrist.

Gal! I shout, hearing her familiar voice crackle through the handset.

Forgive me! Im over the moon about our longawaited daughter! What does she look like?

She looks just like you, Tomyour cheekbones, your eyes!

Really? I was feeling?

Dont worry, I get it.

She cuts me off.

Tom, our girl is healthy, calm, eats and sleeps, and even smiles in her sleep. Well be discharged soon; youll see for yourself.

*P.S.* We never have any more children; the birth was hard, and its aftermath takes a toll on Gals health.

Twenty years later, our daughter has grown into a bright, beautiful woman. We love her fiercely and are proud of her achievements. Pashka becomes her godfather.

I still thank him for that conversation; it opened my eyes and, most importantly, taught me to cherish and love everyone who stands by my side today.