It was the day before Father’s Day. Ultrasound Day. Boy or Girl? I was 35 years old. My husband 45. We had three beautiful daughters. Our house was full of pink walls and dresses and baby dolls and princess clothes and nail polish and glitter. All things girlie. Now, we were having one last baby. Not to sound selfish or ungrateful for our current blessings, but it was no secret our heart’s desire was to have a son. I would daydream about a blue nursery. I imagined toy cars and Legos and superheroes everywhere. I smiled at the thought of a mess like that. I took great joy in imagining my son in a baby size leather jacket to match his Daddy. I wanted to raise a young man who would emulate the goodness of his father. I was ready for this. More ready to be a mom than ever before. I had a deeper understanding of life, a deeper understanding of myself, and I was determined to soak it all in, cherishing every moment.Before we left for the official ultrasound, we performed all of the scientifically proven superstitious tests to see if the baby was a boy or a girl. First, there was the ring on a string test. I had to lie on my back, belly pointed up, while one of the girls held the dangling ring over the baby. If the ring moves in a circle, the baby is a girl. If it goes back and forth, the baby is a boy. Those results were inconclusive. I think all the laughter and excitement in the air was interfering with the baby signals. So, we tried another test. I peed in baking soda to observe the foaminess. We really had no idea how much foam was to be counted as foaminess, and the girls were totally grossed out by the fact that I had peed in a bowl. They made me dump it out before we had the definitive results. The ONE test that gave me hope for a boy was my craving for DILL PICKLES. I ate them a lot. I had never really had distinctive cravings with my girls— but DILL PICKLES were a real craving with this baby. According to folklore, that meant I was definitely having a boy. All the way to the ultrasound office, I told myself that the baby was a girl and that I was so happy to be having another girl.We anxiously waited to be called back. We left the ultrasound, grins spread across our faces. A boy. We would finally be welcoming a son into our family. We were unprepared for what came next. Greeta Russell works through her unimaginable grief not only with grace, but also darkness. Greeta allows the readers to see all facets of grief in this beautiful, heart-wrenching story of loss and love, family and faith.