To the child we might have had,
You would have been a girl.

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We were floating; rolling over waves in the blue-green Caribbean the night she told me she wanted a baby. I looked at the steeply-pitched red roofs dotting the St. Croix hillside, watched the palm trees dance in the breeze to the rhythm of the sea, then reached over and placed a hand on her suntanned belly.
“Really?” I asked. “Do you think we’re ready?”
“It seems like the right time. Good jobs, good house. If I get pregnant soon, I …