“Some things are in God’s hands, sweetheart,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“No. I mean it.” She looked at me hard. “Whatever happens, none of this is because you did something wrong. Do you hear me?”
It was almost exactly what Ben had said. At the time, I thought it just meant they were a kind family. That they loved me.
I remember she glanced toward the hallway when she said it. Toward where Ben was on the phone in his office. Her face did something strange. Something tight and sad.
I didn’t understand it. Not then.
The fifth year, we started talking about IVF.
We sat with a financial counselor at the fertility clinic, and she slid a piece of paper across the desk with a number on it that made my stomach drop.
“That’s per round,” she said gently.
Ben stared at the paper for a long time.
