We tried treatments, changed doctors, and followed advice that sounded scientific and advice that sounded half like superstition. Each time something failed, we told ourselves we could survive one more disappointment.
I loved him for that. I loved that he understood hope could feel heavy too.
Once, after another negative test, Bruce found me sitting on the bathroom floor with my back against the tub.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered.
He sat beside me and took my hand.
“Then tonight we don’t hope,” he said. “Tonight we just get through dinner.”
I loved him for that. I loved that he understood hope could feel heavy too.
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