Bradsh

nd a hollowing grief that was worse than any physical ache. When they finally

lt foreign

erent-stale and empty. Her scent, the faint lavender

vanished. The bathroom counter was cleared of her dozens of creams and serums. The framed photo of us o

moved out. She h

as a single folded note. I recognized her elegant, loopi

k. This is all happening so fast. I hope you

kling in protest, and threw it into the trash can. She was probably already in Eugene's penth

my pocket. It was m

a huge success. You're a damn hero, man. Giving your future father-in-law a

gh escaped my li

ree years of early mornings at the garage, of saving every spare dollar for a ring she deserved, of be

voice turned serious.

re our engagement photo used to hang. I cou

divorce," I said, the

en married yet! What

ly with the back of my hand. "She doesn't want to ma

ne. He' d been there through my early days of insecurity, telling me a guy l

e dumped you after that?" Mark' s vo

firmed, my voice hollow

ark snarled. "And her. My

hung up, I sat in the silent house, the emptiness pressing in on me. I felt a sudden, des

om the closet. My hands stopped on a small, wicker basket

down and ope

ny pair of baby sneakers, a soft yellow on

so hard I had to brace

that she wasn't the maternal type. I, on the other hand, had always dreamed of being a father. I was an only c

hen I could show them to her and she would smile, her fears melting away. I' d watch parenting shows with her, pointing

hrow them away. She found me sitting on the floor, holding the tiny sneakers.

y," she' d said.

ng her into a hug. "It's okay," I' d told her. "A

ing myself to throw it away. A small,

t eclipsed the grief. It was never about not wanting children. It was about no

every whispered promise, every share

her most capt