Chrisoula Kapopoulos had backache and her feet hurt. This for her was the worst part of being pregnant. She didn’t mind the loss of her figure, that was only temporary and as a pregnant mum she positively glowed with that inner radiance which maternity gives to some women, but the discomfort was something else. This trip to the States and the family should have been made weeks earlier when she was not so big, but she couldn’t bear to be apart from the handsome husband her parents had found for her. Her arranged marriage to Nicholas Kapopoulos was happier and more joyous than she could possibly have imagined.
He stood besides her holding her hand, smiling down proudly at his, lovely heavily pregnant wife. ‘A son, it would be a son,’ he thought; as the only son amongst six daughters he wanted more than anything else to continue the family name for his parent’s sake. The old traditional ways were still strong amongst Greek Americans.