For years, I believed my husband had helped me survive the grief of never becoming a mother. Joshua had spent almost a decade holding my hand through every negative test, every doctor’s appointment, every quiet drive home where neither of us knew what to say. Eventually, we stopped talking about children altogether. I buried myself in work, he took up fishing, and our too-quiet house became something we learned to live inside. Then, almost overnight, he changed. The first time I noticed it, we were walking past a playground near our neighborhood. Children were climbing, shouting, laughing, falling, getting back...
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