So I’m asking one thing.
Come with me to the appointment next Thursday.
Not as a perfect husband.
Not as someone who knows what to say.
Just as you.
Please.
Sophie
Bythe time I finished reading, I was crying so hard I could barely see the page.
Next Thursday.
I remembered that Thursday.
I had been in a conference room discussing quarterly projections while Sophie went to the hospital alone.
And that night, I came home irritated because traffic had been bad.
The memory made me feel sick.
I folded the letter carefully and sat there for a long time.
Then something about the third page pulled at me.
I opened it again.
There’s something else.
When the doctor called with the first test results, he said some hormone levels were unusual.
Unusual hormone levels.
Related to the tumor or the miscarriage.
Afraid to hope.
Afraid not to.
