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My daughter and her husband tried for a baby for almost a decade. Pills, specialists, procedures… everything short of giving up. Their house was quiet in that heavy sort of way, where even hope felt like it was holding its breath.
I remember watching my daughter sit by the window some evenings, hands folded in her lap, eyes vacant. She wasn’t crying, but she wasn’t really there either. She was just waiting. But for what, she didn’t even know anymore.
I dropped the dish I was washing. It shattered in the sink, but I didn’t feel a thing. My hands were still dripping wet when I sat down on the edge of the couch, stunned silent.
We were nervous. Of course we were. You think about all the what-ifs. But the moment little Ben came into our lives, it was as if he’d always been meant for us. He was impossibly small, with serious eyes that studied everything. He was a gift none of us expected.
