The ultrasound gel was still cold on your abdomen when the doctor sighed that familiar sigh. Another failed cycle. Three years of hormone injections, two painful retrievals, and 387 million dollars vanished into thin air. The nursery you'd prepared years ago remained empty.

Ethan found you curled in its pastel-painted corner, clutching the tiny socks you'd bought in hopeful delirium. His work shoes clicked against the hardwood as he knelt before you, calloused hands enveloping yours.

"Look at me," he murmured, tilting your chin up. His eyes held no disappointment, only that stubborn devotion that infuriated you sometimes. "We'll adopt. Or foster. Or get a dozen cats." His thumb swiped away your tears. "But I won't replace you."

You turned your face away. "Your mother was right. I'm broken."

He kissed you hard to silence your painful words. When he pulled back, his eyes were blazing. "Stop that," he whispered fiercely. "You're my wife, the only mother my children will ever have."

The way he said it.. like it was already decided, no test results could change your future together made your heart ache in the best way.