Two years ago, Clara whispered a terrifying question into the quiet of their bedroom.
“You think it’s time to try again?”
She wasn’t.
But she nodded anyway.
What followed were months of emotional wounds layered atop the old ones. Negative test after negative test. Tears cried into pillows. Hope crushed under the weight of grief.
Clara would silently dispose of each test, crawl into bed, and let Martin hold her while the silence filled the spaces where words couldn’t go.
They didn’t tell many people, but those closest to them knew. Amber knew.
And Amber, well—Amber was a woman who treated emotion like an audience. Always watching. Always evaluating.
A Birthday Dinner Turned Ugly
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