“Are you sure?” Ezra asked. “Do you really want to sit here all day? You can do some good at work, at least. Your kids need you.”

Emily shook her head. “I wouldn’t be able to focus,” she said, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She was still physically shaken from the day before—there was so much blood, so much cramping—and she was emotionally shaken, too. All she could think about was the fact that mixed in with that blood was the beginning of a baby. At some point she had wrapped those cells up in toilet paper or flushed them down the toilet. Or maybe she hadn’t yet. What if she hadn’t yet? She wanted to do that here, at home, not in the office.

Ezra was quiet for a moment. “I’m going in,” he said. “I need to distract myself. I need to do something. Fix something. Someone.”

Emily had assumed he’d want to stay home, too. That they’d be together. That they’d mourn this lost pregnancy the way she never did the last one. That together they’d heal and grow even stronger than they had been. She wanted him with her, to take care of her like he always did when she wasn’t feeling well, but she didn’t want to ask—if this was what he needed to do to make himself feel better, she wasn’t going to stop him. She didn’t want to be alone all day either, though. “I’ll call Ari,” she said. Just like last time. Ari was her rock. Ari had always been her rock.

The night before, Ezra had sent an email to everyone in their family telling them what happened. And then they all had called, and Ezra had spoken to them for her. Repeated the story over and over. Explained where and when and how. All the details that people want to know because they don’t know what else to say. He’d done what she needed him to do. Now she would do what he needed her to do, even though it hurt to do it. He does this, she reminded herself, this is how he copes with things he can’t handle. For the first time in their relationship, she wished he were different.