“Look at them,” he said, watching the kids climb and shout. “Remember when we thought that’d be us?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
He didn’t look away.
“Does it still bother you?”
I studied his face. There was something raw there—something I hadn’t seen in years.
A few days later, he slid his phone and an adoption brochure across the breakfast table.
“Our house feels empty, Hanna,” he said. “I can’t pretend it doesn’t.
We could do this. We could still have a family.”
“Josh, we made peace with it.”
“Maybe you did.” He leaned closer. “Please, Han.
Just try one more time with me.”
