In a rare move, he interrupted her. “I’ve already talked to someone at Johns Hopkins. They have something really promising in development. You’re on the list when human trials—”

“Josh, please. We have to be realistic.”

“—start, and so far, the results are fantastic.”

“In mice,” she said. He wasn’t the only one researching IPF.

“Yes. In mice.” His jaw tightened.

“I need to talk about the future.”

“And you will be fine in the future,” he said.

“Joshua!” she said, then coughed. “Please listen.”

“No!” he barked, then lowered his voice. “No, Lauren. You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

“Okay, God.” She forced a smile. “Good to be married to the Almighty. If you were a mere mortal, this might be a disaster, but lucky for me, you won’t let me die.”

“Don’t,” he bit off, staring at the wall. “The cure is right on the horizon.”

“For mice.” Most of these promising mouse cures didn’t make it to human trials. And even if they did, most of the patients with IPF wouldn’t be alive when that day came.

“There’s a trial coming in about a year that has—”

“Are you going to sit there and ignore what I have to say, or are you going to be my husband?”

His face cracked a little. “The trial . . . it looks good,” he said, but a few tears slid out of his eyes.

“I’m glad,” she whispered. “I hope it works.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the shadows lengthening as night crept toward them.

“I saw a little kid today,” she said, looking at the doorway. “Maybe five years old. She’s not gonna make it. She was so thin, and her skin was yellow. But she smiled at me.”

He bowed his head.

So he knew, too. That her life would be short.

“Honey,” she whispered, “aside from a miracle cure, I’m going to die from this. And I need to wrap my head around the idea, because I’ve been pretending it’s not true.” She paused, took a slow, careful breath. “It is true. It’s something we need to accept.”

“I will never accept this.” His voice was low and fierce.

Her eyes filled. “I need you to. So we can have more in our lives than me being sick.”

“No. I won’t accept it.” But he bent over so his head was resting on her lap, and she felt his shoulders jerk. She stroked his shiny, shiny black hair, smoothing in her teardrops as they fell.