Emily pressed a hand to her belly. The baby moved beneath her palm, a gentle push.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Me too,” Claire whispered. “But Noah is happy. He thinks pancakes are a food group and that every dog is personally waiting to be his friend. We have a small life, but it’s ours.”
Emily smiled through tears.
“Would you ever let me meet him?” she asked.
Claire’s breath caught.
“Not because of Ryan,” Emily added quickly. “Not because anyone has a right. I just… our children are connected. And maybe we are too.”
This time, Claire cried.
“I’d like that,” she said. “Slowly.”
“Slowly is good.”
After the call ended, Emily remained by the window until the sky deepened into blue. For the first time, the future did not appear as a single locked door. It looked like a hallway with many rooms. Some dark. Some lit. Some waiting.
