Daisy was happy, mostly. She didn't want for friends or playmates, and there was always a sibling or two underfoot to drag along on adventures. But she always felt there was something missing, somehow, like a piece of her that wasn't filled. She had always hoped Aunt Dinny or Aunt Stel would have girl children, but there were only Borry and Farry, and they weren't interested in spending time with a much younger hobbit lass.
Sometimes, when Daisy was younger, she would sit on her mum's lap and listen to her tell stories. Daisy loved all of Rosie's stories, but the ones she liked best were the ones most rarely told; about the mysterious Frodo of the Ring who had left so long ago. Rosie would take on dreamy look, and tell her daughter all sorts of tales. Tales of love, happily ever afters, things that might-have-been. Daisy liked the might-have-beens. Sometimes when she lost herself in her mother's voice she could imagine they were living them. Rosie never gave too many details, but enough to give Daisy enough idea of what she meant; Rosie knew she was a clever little lass.
Those nights, Daisy would fall asleep and dream of three little hobbits she was quite farmiliar with by now. She knew their names, their likes and dislikes, the sound of their voices. She knew her Sammie, and she woke up crying for him, and for herself. He was her missing piece, and she knew no amount of might-have-beens or wishing could bring him to her. Outside her window she could hear the caw of a lone crow.
It was much to Daisy's surprise when, many years later, her first child was born. She and Cob had dispaired of ever having them, and after a long and difficult labor and pregnency Daisy gave birth to a son. He didn't look like anyone in the Bracegirdle or Gamgee families, and no one could understand why. But Daisy only looked at his tiny face and felt, for the first time, whole and perfectly happy.
"Sammie," she whispered to the pale, dark-haired infant in her arms.
~