Five years earlier, when our parents died unexpectedly in a car accident, Ryan slept on my couch for almost a month because I couldn’t bear being alone at night.
We had lost so much that year.
And perhaps that was one reason I said yes so quickly when he and Melissa asked me for help.
They had been trying to have a child for six years.
There had been treatments.
Two rounds of IVF.
And then a pregnancy loss at eleven weeks that left Melissa carrying a sadness she rarely spoke about.
So when they invited me to dinner one evening and Ryan began nervously explaining what they wanted to ask, I already knew.
He hadn’t even finished his sentence.
“Yes,” I said.
He blinked.
“Ivy, you don’t have to—”
“I know.”
I reached across the table and took his hand.
“But yes.”
Melissa began crying immediately.
