“Please don’t talk about dying while she’s kicking,” I whispered.
“That’s exactly why I have to.”
He looked at my stomach.
“If I can’t watch her grow up, maybe I can at least make sure somebody else gets more time with theirs.”
Mark grew weaker much faster than we expected.
By my eighth month, I was helping him button his shirts and pretending not to notice when he had to stop halfway to the bathroom just to catch his breath.
A few weeks before he d*ed, Mark began asking to speak to his doctor alone.
I never understood why.
Whenever I asked what they discussed, he would only squeeze my hand and say,