For years, my husband had been the one helping me make peace with the life we had.
A quiet house. Two careers. Weekends that felt too long and too empty, but manageable if we didn’t look at them too closely.
We learned how to live around the absence.
So when Joshua suddenly started talking about adoption, it didn’t feel like hope.
It felt like something else.
The first time it showed, we were walking past a playground when he stopped mid-step.
“Look at them,” he said, watching the kids run and shout. “Remember when we thought that’d be us?”
“Yeah,” I answered, keeping my voice steady.
He didn’t move.
“Does it still bother you?” he asked.
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