He leaned his forehead against the warm plexiglass window. The smell of the hospital permeated everything – it was so strong around him that he could almost feel it seeping out of his pores.

On the other side, he could see the babies. Some sleeping, sucking on their tiny little thumbs. Some screaming, fists balled, entering the world full-throttle. And then there was one – yes, she was the one – who was merely watching.

He little eyes peered out from underneath her pastel pink hat – the generic, “Look at me, I’m a girl!” hospital kind. And she was beautiful.

No, she was perfect.

Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. In the long elevator ride up to the fifth floor, and then the short walk down the hall, he had been suddenly uncertain. What if he didn’t recognize her? What kind of father would he be then?

Ah, but there she was, a ball of bright life bundled in a blanket, watching silently.

Oh, she was perfect.