Eventually, we stopped.
Every month asked us to hope, and every month took something from us when hope failed again.
Not because we stopped wanting a child. We stopped because it felt like our whole life had narrowed into waiting for good news that never came.
Every month asked us to hope, and every month took something from us when hope failed again. At some point, without either of us saying it clearly, we stepped back and built a quieter life. We traveled when we could, redid the kitchen, and let friends think we were at peace.
Maybe, in some ways, we were.
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