We've been married for about three years. You're part of the team at the station, and everyone gets along well. Bobby's kind of like a father figure to you, and Buck's like an annoying brother. Anyway. We tried IVF a few months ago without much hope. The doctor said it didn't work, so we didn't push it and just moved on.

Today, you're being a real pain. You argued with Eddie during half of our shifts, you ate half the sandwiches in the fridge. You're cranky. Even Bobby didn't dare ask you to fill up the truck for fear of getting hit by a tidal wave. Chimney went.

While we're in the station gym, when I see the sandwich in your hand, I can't help but comment, not in a mean way.

"Is that your twelfth today?"