the miscarriage.”
My breath caught.
“What are you saying?”
She swallowed hard.
“I’m saying I don’t know exactly what exists. I was too overwhelmed to follow up. Then the diagnosis got worse, and I told myself it didn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters,” I said.
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
Before either of us could say more, there was a knock at the door.
Dr. Keller stepped inside, holding a sealed envelope.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, glancing between us. “Sophie, the fertility clinic returned my call.”
Sophie’s hand flew to her mouth.
Dr. Keller looked at me, then back at her.
“I think both of you need to hear this.”
The room went silent except for the monitor beside her bed.
Dr. Keller opened the envelope.
His expression changed as he read.
Then he lifted his eyes.
“Sophie,” he said carefully, “the clinic confirmed there is a viable frozen
