Henry saw a deep solemnity in her eyes and knew they were thinking the same thing. For all her positive attitude and his cautious skepticism, neither of them had known if this day would come, if she would be able to safely deliver a baby under the circumstances. But it had happened, and it was a miracle. No words were needed for both of them to acknowledge that fact, but Kat smiled and said lightly, “O ye of little faith.”

Henry smiled in return, saying simply, “Point taken.” He couldn’t deny that Kat’s faith was an inspiration to him, and her determination to give this child life—no matter what cancer might be doing to her body—made him agree completely with the doctor: his wife was a brave, strong woman.

Henry sat next to Kat on the bed and leaned against the pillows at her side so he could continue to hold the baby and they could admire him together. They had rarely discussed possible names for the baby, but now that he had arrived—a new living and breathing human being—they agreed it didn’t seem right for him not to have a name. It was Kat’s strong opinion that he should be named after his father, who had been given his father’s name.

“It’s a fine name,” Kat said. “Henry George Beckenridge . . . and he shall be the third.”

“It’s a big name for such a tiny baby,” Henry said.

“You do realize you were a baby when you received the name,” Kat said with a little laugh. He could tell she was completely worn out and sleepy, but she was determined to get acquainted with her son before she rested.

“I do realize that,” Henry admitted with a chuckle. “But how do we distinguish him from me? My father went by George, so it was easy, but this little man doesn’t look like a George to me.”

“I should like to call him Harry, a respectable form of the name Henry. And I think it suits him well.”

“I think I agree with you,” Henry said, attempting to comprehend the entire spectrum of how his life had just been altered permanently. He was a father, and this child would be taking his name and changing the lives of everyone who would have the privilege of knowing him. He refused to think of Kat leaving him to raise this child alone; such thoughts could wait for another day. Little Harry was surrounded by family who loved him already, and Henry would make certain he had a good life and that he wanted for nothing—most especially love.

“Harry it is,” Kat declared and let out one of her girlish giggles that he found so endearing. “I can’t believe how darling he is.”

“With such a beautiful mother,” Henry said and kissed the top of Kat’s head, “how could he be otherwise?”

“But he looks like you.”