He loved her — I want to be fair about that — but under his happiness I could see the disappointment he thought he was hiding. We’ll give her a little brother someday, he said.

And we tried again, and again.

Every year or so another daughter arrived.

Ramona, then Neve, then Opal, then Juno.

Nicolas loved all four of them, in his fashion.

But each time the ultrasound tech said the word girl, I watched the same shadow cross his face, and each time it got a little harder to pretend I hadn’t seen it.