She felt a flash of irritation. Sometimes it seemed as if she was the only one who still cared whether they had a child or not. It was she, after all, who had to think constantly about the day-to-day work of what she should and shouldn’t put into her body, how it was feeling, and whether or not it was doing what it was supposed to do. Maja took a breath. She knew that she wasn’t being fair. She’d been so sensitive about her failure to get pregnant that it wasn’t surprising Ted wouldn’t bring it up.

“Hey, babe, there’s something I need to talk to you about tonight,” she said. “Want to meet here after work?” Even though things were strained, she’d made up her mind to speak with Ted about the possibility of doing IVF. It wasn’t ideal, she knew, to bring it up while they were already dealing with so much. But it could be a long process, and the sooner they started, the better.

“Sure,” he said. “See you at seven.” He drew a heart with his finger in the fog on the shower glass. She smiled. He used to leave messages for her that way when they were first married, since he was usually up and showered before her. At the time, it drove her crazy because she was the one who kept the shower glass clean. Now she realized that she had missed it.

Maja went into the gallery for a few hours, and she was relieved that it was quiet, since she wasn’t exactly in the mood to be charming. Most of the people who wandered in were tourists rather than serious buyers, and she used the time to catch up on her inbox.

After work, Maja prepped dinner—Ted’s favorite, French onion soup, even though it was wrong for the season. The scent of the slowly caramelizing onions was overwhelming in the small kitchen, and she opened the sliding glass doors to their tiny balcony to bring in some fresh air. She put a bottle of wine in the fridge and made a quick salad dressing. Between the commute and work, she was beat. She had a few minutes until Ted would be there, so she laid down on the sofa and closed her eyes.

She must have dozed off, and when she awoke, the room was dark and cool. She sat up, feeling groggy, and closed the balcony doors. She flipped on the kitchen light and looked at the clock on the stove. It was almost nine. The onions in the pan were congealed and smelled metallic. Ted said he would be here at seven. What the hell was going on?

She flipped open her phone to check for a message, but he hadn’t called. While she scraped the onions into the trash she tried his number, which went straight to voice mail.