She sent gifts on Mom’s birthday, wrote thank-you notes after family dinners, and asked Dad about his knee surgery. My parents accepted every kindness like it was owed and gave her nothing back.
“Do you?”
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The IVF years made everything sharper. Four rounds. Two losses before twelve weeks. Medical bills stacked up, and still, we weren’t any closer to a baby.
After the second loss, I found her crying in the clinic bathroom.
“I’m tired,” she whispered. “I’m tired of hoping and burying it quietly.”
***
For years, doctors told Maya to take painkillers or relax. Then we found Dr. Patel.
At our next appointment, she looked Maya in the eye. “Pain that changes your life isn’t something you should have to prove.”
“I’m tired of hoping and burying it quietly.”
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Maya cried before Dr. Patel even continued.
“Your chances are very low,” she said gently. “I don’t want to give you false hope, Maya. Carrying a pregnancy may be difficult.”
Maya opened her folder, then closed it without writing anything down.
***
In the parking lot, I reached for her folder. “Let me carry that.”
“It’s just a folder.”
“No,” I said, taking it gently. “You don’t have to organize grief.”
That was when her face finally broke.
“Let me carry that.”
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We stopped planning around what might never happen and focused on our wedding.
***
Two weeks before the wedding, Mom called while Maya taped place cards.
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