That was the first moment since the dinner table that I cried for both of us instead of only for myself.
When he finished, he brought the baby blanket downstairs.
A few days later, we started turning the spare room into a nursery. Bruce painted one wall while I sat on the floor with color samples and a glass of water I kept forgetting to drink.
When he finished, he brought the baby blanket downstairs.
He stood in the doorway of the nursery holding it with both hands.
Then he crossed the room and laid it gently inside the crib we had not expected to buy.
He looked at me and gave this small, disbelieving smile.
Some mornings I wake up angry all over again.
“I think part of me has been saving this room for years,” he said.
I walked over and took his hand.
“No more saving things in your head.”
