I would never carry a child.
That night, I cried until the morning sun broke into our room.
The last doctor spoke gently, as though softness could keep the words from cutting.
My husband, Rick, squeezed my hand.
« We’ll find another way, » he said.
That night, I cried until the morning sun broke into our room. Rick stayed beside me and talked about adoption.
« We can still be parents, » he whispered. « A family does not have to begin in a hospital room. »
Four months later, we visited a children’s home two counties away.
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