Absolute silence. A constriction in my throat; I couldn’t breathe. Grace’s hand withdrawing from mine as she wrenched out a sob that split my heart in two. My mind reeled, mental vertigo produced images and memories that fragmented and spliced together into a fast-forward riot that documented my life. At the end of it, the memory of the last time I’d gone to the clinic for a three-month workup, the tradition I’d begun with Dianne and given up during one of my bouts of depression. It had not been a conscious decision. I think I believed at my core that it would just never happen to me. Denial is a strong, strong drug.

Dr. Patton offered to give us some time, then slipped quietly from the room. I couldn’t look at Grace. I stared out the window, watching palm trees sway in the gentle Pacific breeze, listening to Grace as she cried, not knowing what to do about anything.

I don’t know how long we sat there, neither of us talking or even looking at the other. Finally, her voice trembling, Grace whispered, “I should be tested.”

I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Grace having contracted it as well. And Bree … It was too much. My few tests, after Dianne had told me about her status, were always negative. I had quit worrying about it. Now I couldn’t bear the thought of either one of my precious girls being sick because of my carelessness. Rage like I hadn’t known since Dianne’s death crashed like a tsunami, and I jumped to my feet and stormed out the door.

All I could think about was how ashamed I was, of how I had jeopardized my wife and child. I hated myself. I hated Dianne. I could think of nothing that soothed my spirit or cooled my blood. I found myself at our car, and my first thought was to drive it into the wall at the end of the parking lot. It seemed, for about ten seconds, to be the most logical thing to do—I certainly deserved it. Then Grace’s face was before me, and I couldn’t bear to do it. I felt completely powerless, there was nothing I could do to fix this. With a shout that resounded through the concrete structure, I slammed my fist into the pillar beside the car. I barely felt it. Again. My knuckles bled. Again.

How could God do this to me? How could God see this coming and not stop it? Why me? Why would He let me marry Grace and father a child and put both of them at risk when they had done nothing to deserve it?