You sat with your head in your hands, the tears starting to flow. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Ramos, your body is not capable of incubating a fetus or even an embryo. You can't have children," the doctor had said. He left you afterwards. You stood up shakily and walked to your car. Getting in, you didn't start the car. You sat there for ten minutes until the tears started to flow again. You started the car, angrily wiping away the tears that were cascading down your red cheeks. You drove home and walked into the kitchen.

Your husband stood in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the two of you, when you walked in. Smiling, he turned to look at you but noticed the tears stains instantly. "What's wrong?" he asked, rushing to your side. You let him lead you to the coach while you stayed quiet, ignoring the tears that had started to flow again.

"The doctor says that . . . I-I-I . . . I can't . . . can't have . . . children . . ." you sobbed into his shoulder. He stiffened but his strong arms instantly wrapped themselves around you. He soothed you, whispering reassuring words in your ear but you were convinced this was your fault. You and Sergio both loved children and wanted a few of your own. But, you couldn't have kids.

"It's okay, (Y/N). There are other ways that we can have a baby," he soothed.

"But why can't I?" you cried, standing up. "I had our baby . . . our babies in my goddamn body, Sergio! And I couldn't . . . they couldn't . . . they died!" you sobbed, remembering your four miscarriages. Sergio stood up.

"That wasn't your fault, (Y/N). You had no control over that."

"But they were right here," you whimpered. Sergio hugged you tightly. You two just laid there for an hour, sobbing together. Three months had passed and you both had accepted the fact that a baby wouldn't be in the workings for at least the next few months. That hadn't changed your relationship. You both still wanted children and were talking about how that would happen. You held tightly to Sergio's hand as you two walked through a small park outside of Madrid. You two talked quietly, not wanting to attract attention.

Then, suddenly, a football came hurtling towards the two of you. Sergio stopped the ball with his football skills while you looked cautiously at the source of the ball. A small boy, around five, came running over the hill. "Sorry, señor," the boy replied, running over to the two of you.

"Not a problem," Sergio responded, handing the boy back his ball.

"You're- You're Sergio Ramos!" the boy smiles, hopping up and down in excitement. Sergio smiles and nods. "When I grow up, I'm going to be just like you!"

"That's great! Just keep practicing," Sergio replies.

"Are you alone?" you ask, looking around for other kids or his parents.

"Oh. No, señora, I'm practicing by myself. None of the other orphanage kids wanted to skip Father Hernandez's loooooong speech," the boy said, as if it were nothing.

"You're an orphan?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

The boy nodded. "Never met my parents, the nuns say I was just left on the doorstep." You gasped, sharing a look with your husband.

"Hey, buddy, would you mind if I play with you. Got to stay in shape, especially with El Clasico coming closer," Sergio stated. The boy looked up at your husband in awe before shaking his head violently. Sergio ruffled his brown curls and followed him over to where the kid was practicing beforehand. You watched your husband practice with the boy for the good part of an hour. The boy, Diego, was pretty good for a five year old from your limited understanding of the sport.

You cheered as Diego 'scored' on your husband for the third time. Then, a nun came walking hurriedly over the hill. "DIEGO, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" she shouted. You stood up and walked over to your husband, who was in front of Diego.

"Sorry, sister. I just—"

"—You just nothing. You missed Father Hernandez's speech! I should pop that football of yours!" the nun yelled.

"No, please, sister. I promise I'll be good," Diego begged. You looked between the boy and the nun.

"I'm sorry for any trouble this boy caused you," the nun told you and your husband.

"He didn't cause any problems," Sergio assured the woman. She nodded and escorted Diego away, who waved at you two over his shoulder. Reading the name on the bag the nun was carrying, you read 'St. Juan Felipe Orphanage'. You and Sergio shared a look, both having read the bag. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Sergio asked, a smile on his face.

The next day you two walked into St. Juan Felipe Orphanage. The place looked a little worse for wear and seemed packed. A nun made her way over to you two. "How can I help the two of you?" she asked kindly.

"We were looking to adopt," you smiled. She smiled back in gratitude and led you to a small office.

"We have plenty of candidates—"

"—That won't be necessary. We've already picked our choice," Sergio cut in.

"Oh. And who would the child be?" the nun asked.

"Diego. He's around five. Brown hair, tan skin," you described. The nun nodded and told you to wait here while she fetched Diego. Fifteen minutes later, Diego entered the room, a small bag in one hand and the worn football from yesterday under the other arm.

His eyes widened. "Mr. and Mrs. Ramos?" he gasped.

"Mom and Dad will do fine," Sergio replied, a large smile plastered on his face. Diego ran and gave the both of you a hug. He waved hurriedly to the other children as you drove away in your car. Fifteen years had passed and Diego had grown. You and Sergio stood in the stands as Diego made his debut to Real Madrid. You cheered as your son ran onto the field, the number four plastered to his back.