The samples slipped from my fingers. Kevin, my son, who’d stumbled through three failed engagements and spent the last five years avoiding commitment entirely. Pregnant. Married. “Kevin, that’s…” I searched for words. “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.”

“I want you to meet her properly. Tonight, maybe? Can we come for dinner?”

After he hung up, I stared at the ceiling tiles. Kevin hadn’t even mentioned Jessica before last month. The timeline felt compressed, rushed. But I wanted this to work for him. I wanted it badly.

At home, I set the dining room table with my late wife Anne’s china, the ivory plates with the delicate gold rim. If Kevin was starting a family, this moment deserved tradition.