Chapter 9 - I Had Wanted a Son Less Than Miranda Thought
Miranda’s theory depended on one assumption.
That a son would matter to me differently than a daughter.
The Morello family had spent generations teaching men that assumption.
Male heir.
Family name.
Succession.
Old-world nonsense wrapped around real estate and ego.
My grandfather had four daughters before a son.
Family stories treated the son’s birth like national liberation.
My father repeated some of it.
I did not think I had.
Then Miranda reminded me of conversations.
“You once said it would be nice to have a boy.”
True.
At dinner.
Casual.
Daphne had asked whether babies could be brothers.
I said:
“Maybe someday it’d be nice to have a boy too.”
Miranda kept it.
Later, IVF testing revealed one male and one female embryo.
I said:
“If we transfer, maybe the boy first. Daphne might like having a little brother.”
Why did I say boy first?
Preference?
Perhaps.
Convenience of fantasy?
Perhaps.
Miranda heard heir.
She began talking about:
“your son.”
I corrected her once.
“Our child.”
Not forcefully.
She took my old family culture and built a certainty around it.
Garrick will choose a son.
Especially a biological son with Miranda.
Daphne belongs to dead wife.
The new boy belongs to future.
That distinction existed mainly in Miranda’s mind.
But I had supplied pieces.
Careless comments.
Family mythology.
The fact my largest holding company still carried my surname.
No wonder Daphne feared replacement.
May you like
Children are good at noticing what adults call jokes.
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