Emily squeezed his hand. She thought of the confidence that Rob gave her, the unconditional support, the ability to see herself differently. She needed that. Now more than ever. And she’d promised him that they’d be friends. That she wouldn’t disappear. “Please don’t ask me to do that,” she said. She looked into his eyes, willing him to see her, to see her sincerity. “You don’t have to be jealous. He’s just a good friend now.”

That was what she and Rob had agreed when they said good-bye. That they would be friends, they’d talk, they’d exchange music, but that was where things would end.

Ezra looked out of the porthole window. “I guess I can live with that,” he said.

—

When they got home, they started therapy—together and on their own. They shared secrets, they told the truth, and they found news ways to compromise, a deeper understanding of what their relationship needed. All while Emily made music, wrote music, a whole album’s worth that she sent to Rob. The ease with which the music and lyrics flowed was both a surprise and a salve. Some songs were about Ezra, some were about her mom, and some were about Rob. What she’d said in Mexico had been true.

—

Emily and Ezra didn’t have sex for more than a month after the miscarriage; they just used their lips and tongues and fingers. And when they did make love again, they used protection. The idea of getting pregnant scared Emily, because it could be paired with another loss. And Ezra admitted how worried he was that he wouldn’t be able to handle the heartbreak if something went wrong again, either. But two months in, something started changing for Ezra.

“I think we’re strong enough,” he said one night at dinner. “I think we should try again.”

“I don’t know,” Emily answered. It wasn’t only her fear of loss that was stopping her now. She had just rediscovered her passion, was changing her life, and she was worried about what a baby would mean.

Later that night, Emily played her new songs for Ezra for the first time.

“They’re beautiful,” Ezra told her. “Like you. Like our baby will be.”

It was ironic, she thought, all that time that she was ready when Ezra wasn’t, and now that he was ready, she needed more time.

—

A few days later, just as she was putting on her jacket, heading out of the counseling center at the end of the day, Emily got a call from Rob.

“I have an idea,” he said when she picked up. “Can you be ready to perform—a full set—in six weeks? I’ll be doing a show in New York again, once we get this whole radius clause worked out, and this time I need an opening act.”