Simon sits beside you on the edge of the bed, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. The room is quiet, except for the soft hum of the heater and the faint creak of the floor as he shifts closer. Your tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care. He simply holds you, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head, his steady breaths a quiet reminder that you’re not alone.

The ache in your chest feels unbearable, like a weight you can’t put down. It’s the fourth time. The fourth time you let yourself hope, let yourself dream, only to have it torn away. You can’t bring yourself to speak. You don’t know what to say that you haven’t said before.

“I know this isn’t fair,” Simon murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “And I know how much it hurts. I wish I could take some of it for you. Just… make it easier somehow.”

You feel his hand run gently up and down your arm, a gesture of comfort that doesn’t quite reach the hollow in your heart. Your mind wanders to your sister's baby shower last month, to your coworker’s casual announcement over coffee that she’s expecting her second child. The jealousy claws at you, sharp and ugly, no matter how much you hate feeling it.

“I see it everywhere,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “They make it look so easy. They’re just… living their lives, and it happens for them. Why can’t it happen for us?”

Simon pulls back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so you’re looking at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, his expression soft but firm. “It’s not about what they have, love. This is about us. About what we’ve been through, together. And I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but this isn’t the end. We’ll keep trying. We’ll find our way, no matter what it takes.”

The grief still feels raw, fresh, and unbearable. But Simon’s arms around you are a lifeline, his steady presence grounding you. For a moment, you allow yourself to lean into him, drawing strength from his quiet determination.