I’ll never know the feeling of life growing inside me. Never feel a baby’s tiny kicks and punches wriggling in my belly. Never say, “Ashe, put your hand here. The baby’s kicking,” like I’ve seen moms-to-be do with their spouses. Never have pickle and ice cream cravings, like Cora had with Ashe. Never carry that glorious basketball paunch that tells the world something beautiful and adorable is arriving soon. Never know the beauty of loving someone made from me. Would she have had my red hair? My freckles? Would he have had my eyes or my crooked smile? Would they have had the same raspberry birthmark at the base of their neck, as I do?

Now, I’m sobbing—something I haven’t done in over a decade. Sobbing for a dream that I never had the chance to grasp and hold on to and watch grow as Ashe and I framed our lives around it. Sobbing for children I can’t fully see, that I’ll never meet, who don’t exist.

My heart breaks in grief for their eyes that’ll never open, the words they’ll never say, their little fingers never gripping mine, and for the people they’ll never be. I cry over ghosts. Not even ghosts, but hints of souls in my imagination.

How can I hurt so much over what never was?

A gentle voice whispers, “I’m sorry, Marina,” behind me. I don’t turn around to see the man shadowing my bed—I know who it is. I’m crying like I’ve never cried before; I can’t face him. No one has ever seen me like this.

Broken.

Vulnerable.

Hurting.

But on second thought, that’s not true because he’s seen me at my worst. He was there, going through it with me. Accepting his comfort felt natural and necessary—I had no choice. Besides, it was easy. He’s not in my life. There are no expectations. He requires nothing of me except, perhaps, to heal. What he thinks of me doesn’t matter.

Once again, he’s here. There’s no one else. And I want to comfort him, now, too.

My hand drops to the bed behind me, reaching for him. His hand slips into mine, wrapping my fingers in his, and bringing some sweet relief. I’m okay. He’s okay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

My tears fall freely, vanishing into my damp pillow, as my grip on him tightens. He says nothing else, and it’s a relief. I can’t be smiling, cheerful, go-to Marnie with the words everyone needs to hear. All I can be is this.