He shook his head.
“Even if the first doctor had been right, you weren't.”
Emily closed her eyes.
That sentence went somewhere deeper than all the others.
Daniel took her hand.
She whispered:
“Do you want to try?”
The question surprised him.
He thought carefully.
“Yes.”
Emily’s heart quickened.
Then he added:
“But not because of this letter.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I want whatever happens between us to stay ours.”
“Not become some medical project.”
“Not turn every night into a test.”
Emily looked toward the letter.
Daniel continued.
“If someday we decide we want to try for children, then we try.”
“If not, we don't.”
“You don't need to decide this morning because Baltimore found an old piece of paper.”
She stared.
Then laughed softly.
“You're annoyingly sensible.”
“I have moments.”
“Rare.”
“Cruel woman.”
She leaned down and kissed him.
The letter went into a drawer.
Not hidden.
Just put away.
Life continued.
Christmas arrived.
Daniel cut a small pine.
Emily decorated it with dried orange slices and scraps of ribbon.
Daniel claimed it looked ridiculous.
Then spent an hour adjusting one ribbon that hung crooked.
Emily caught him.
He denied everything.
New Year came under heavy snow.
February brought brutal cold.
In March, one of their cows calved during a storm.
The calf was weak.
Emily stayed in the barn with Daniel all night.
At dawn, the little animal finally stood.
Daniel smiled like a boy.
Emily watched him.
The old guilt returned.
Smaller now.
Not gone.
She stepped beside him.
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“I think I want to try someday.”
He turned.
“Try what?”
She stared.
He understood.
His face softened.
“Someday.”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
“You're not going to make a speech?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you'll accuse me of practicing.”
She smiled.
Daniel touched her cheek.
“Whenever you're ready.”
That spring, they did not make plans.
They simply stopped being afraid of the possibility.
Months passed.
Nothing happened.
Emily told herself she was fine.
Then one morning she realized she was counting.
Days.
Weeks.
She hated it.
Daniel noticed.
“You're doing arithmetic.”
“No.”
“At breakfast.”
“I can count at breakfast.”
“Dangerous habit.”
She glared.
He smiled.
Then saw her expression.
His disappeared.
“Emily.”
She looked down.
“Nothing.”
He waited.