Everything else fades as my daughter is placed in my arms. There is nothing around us, I can only see her. She’s small, and pink, and utterly beautiful.

She looks up at me steadily; her gaze seems to hold wisdom although she has not even been in this world an hour yet. Her eyes are brilliantly blue. They are definitely not my eyes. No.

I realise with a shock that they are, in fact, Kian’s eyes. I look up at my wife for a moment. No, not hers. Kian’s.

I know his eyes. I know them so well. I know every expression in them; the stormy ocean-blue anger, the calm sky-blue love, the midnight-blue passion. I have seen them all, and they have all been for me. But not anymore.

When we were young, we thought it would last forever. We believed that love would weather any storm. And it did, for a very long time. But in the end, we grew tires, too tired to fight or to hold on, and his eyes turned to someone else.

I realise, suddenly, how much I miss him. We’re still friends, yes, but it can never be the same. I hug my daughter tighter to me. I cannot have him, no, but I shall have her. I shall have her for all time, and I will treasure her forever as I was treasured him.

“Angel.” I whisper to her, bending my face down to hers. Angel, yes, my angel.

My wife touches my arm. I look up at her, realising that my eyes have filled with tears.

“She’s beautiful, yes?”

I nod my answer. She smiles at me.

“And she has your nose.”

Yes, she does. And Kian’s eyes.