sister, Nora, stayed close.
She knew how deeply I missed Lucy.
And I knew she was carrying her own heartbreak.
For eight years, Nora and her husband, Tom, had been trying to have a baby.
They attended medical appointments.
Endured disappointing results.
Watched friends become parents.
And returned home to a house that always seemed painfully quiet.
Sometimes Nora called me after another unsuccessful treatment.
“I don’t understand why this keeps happening,” she’d whisper.
I listened because there wasn’t anything I could say to make it fair.
Eventually, I suggested
