Another confession Trisha Elric will never make: her heart sank when she saw her second child for the first time, crowned with his father's golden mane. It hadn't seemed that much to hope for: a girl, maybe, just one, who looked like her instead, who reminded her of what would have been if she'd married a nice, steady, boring young man and lived the nice, steady, boring existence everyone had meant for her.
She swallows then, and carries on (she always does): let Alphonse and Edward stand testament to exactly how terrible a mistake she made, letting Hohenheim into her life.