“We can refinance the house,” I said.
“Claire.”
“We can. My dad said he’d help. And my savings—”
“Claire.” He put his hand over mine. “Let’s just… give it one more year. Naturally. Okay? Just one more year. And if nothing happens, we’ll do it. I promise.”
I didn’t understand why he was hesitating. He wanted a baby as much as I did. I knew he did. I saw the way he looked at kids in the grocery store. I saw him at his cousin’s barbecue, holding his newborn nephew like the baby was made of glass, with this look on his face like his heart was breaking.
“One more year,” I agreed.
That year, I stopped tracking. I threw away the thermometer. I deleted the app. I told myself I was letting go, that I was making peace with it.
That’s a lie. I never made peace with it. I just got quieter.
