A whisper that something was missing — not in a dramatic, sweeping way, just a quiet ache she noticed while watching Lily stack blocks or tracing the soft curve of her daughter’s cheek as she slept. When Lily turned one, the conversation resurfaced again. “Maybe it’s time,” David said one night, lowering himself onto the couch beside her.
He smelled faintly of coffee and the cedar-scented candle Emily always kept burning in the living room. “We could start thinking about a second.” Emily looked over at him, her fingers drifting unconsciously to Lily’s baby monitor. The screen showed the toddler curled up with her stuffed rabbit, breathing deeply.