The singular line on the pregnancy test haunted you.

It was like a cruel joke — the multiple negative tests that plagued your marriage, many accumulated over the two years of trying.

He was the one who warmed up to the thought of a child, after years of believing he couldn’t possibly be suited to be a father.

But it was you who brought up the idea in the first place. The one wished to be a parent long before him in hopes to give the child a better upbringing than you both had.

And as the tests landed into the bin with a thud, Simon could sense your disappointment from across the room, and frowned.

“This doesn’t define anythin’, love.” A long exhale pushed past his lips, shoulders low as he slowly made his way over to you. “It’ll stick. Someday..”