It was a struggle not to succumb to the devastation of losing another baby. Brett was disappointed, but he didn't outwardly look to cast blame on me. Although, he had suggested I go back to seeing my counselor on my own in addition to our time with him as a couple. Somehow it felt like starting over-the pain of another loss, but Dr. Carthage kept reminding me how differently I had dealt with this miscarriage. When I got home from the hospital, I stayed in bed for one solid day. Brett stayed with me catering to my needs, holding me. But on the second day home, we got up and spent the day together trying to be normal. We'd called in sick, which neither of us ever did, but it was necessary and had been much needed. There were tears and sadness, but I wasn't overcome with the level of grief I'd suffered with Cole. It took Dr. Carthage pointing out that didn't mean I loved this child any less, it simply meant I had learned to cope-without drugs-and without falling into a pit of despair. I

Three hours had passed, no one had been out to update me, and I began to panic, more than I had when we passed the two-hour mark. Dr. Matthews indicated the procedure normally took one to two hours but could go three depending on what they found. He said nothing about it being longer, and in my estimation, she should be in recovery by now. I'd been up to the nurse's desk a handful of times, and with each visit, she was more sympathetic than the last but still had no answers. Dr. Matthews came through the double doors after three hours and seventeen minutes with a grave look on his face. He balled his surgical mask in his hand before extending the other in a formal greeting."Mr. Ryann, you can come back to see her. I'll go over what we found with you, but she'll likely be in recovery for another hour before you guys move to a room. Once she's awake, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have in greater detail." He clapped me on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion and led me to m

I hadn't been able to persuade Brett that buying a baby wasn't an option. He had convinced himself we could simply put out feelers on the black market and have an infant next week. In his mind, with enough money, we could have whatever we wanted. While I loved his exuberance, he wouldn't even know how to go underground if it were an option. One thing he had proven, repeatedly, was his love and devotion. It was unwavering, and regardless of how much I struggled against it, his commitment remained intact. In the weeks following the miscarriage, I spent more time with Dr. Carthage wondering why everything was such a struggle for me. Normal people moved on, tried again, kept hoping, and considered other options. For me, there were no other options-everything was absolute and final. I wasn't interested in adoption the more I'd thought about it, and infertility treatments just weren't for me. We looked at in vitro, spent tons of time researching it, and even went to a specialist in Atlanta

Brett left early the next morning to meet Dan for a basketball tournament at the YMCA. The league they played in held a tournament at the end of every season, and their team typically made it to the finals. This was the semi-finals, and they'd be gone most of the day. Leaning off the side of the bed, I dug my phone out of my jeans to send him a text wishing him good luck and to tell him I loved him. I'd forgotten about silencing the conversation with Gray until I saw the red notification that glowed on the message app.Gray: How'd you know I got divorced?Gray: Never mind. I'm sure Brett told you.Gray: I guess you're busy. I thought Brett was out of town this weekend and had hoped we could talk.Gray: Guess not.Gray: It's been a really hard day. Needed a friend. You're the only person who understands.I read his texts over and over, contemplating the best way to handle the situation, whether or not to reply. My text to Brett forgotten, my fingers hovered over the keyboard in

Gray texted me daily. None of it seemed significant, and I shared every message with Brett, but he hadn't been interested in the details. I'd watched for signs of irritation but hadn't seen any. I offered to let him read the communication, but while he appreciated my telling him about them, he didn't need to see them. I guess he figured if I shared that they took place it wasn't likely I was doing something I should be hiding. But after a taxing night of baby discussions, miscarriage acknowledgments, and once again beating the dead horse about adoption, I made a mistake and reached out. It wasn't so much that I wanted to talk to Gray as I wanted to vent to someone who wouldn't stick up for Brett and tell me what a wonderful husband he was for trying to give us a family. I already knew all of that, but I needed an outlet who wouldn't insist on playing Devil's advocate. The words flowed too easily, the confessions too intimate. Every doubt, every fear, every frustration, and hang up-