Sean’s back ached, but he’d grown used to it. The little plastic chair he’d camped out in since Harper fell asleep pushed against his spine and refused to give. You have to give it props for that, he thought. The chair was nothing if not determined. And it reminded him of all the pangs and groans that went along with life.

Nurses came in after thirty minutes and went through a series of checks and tests that he knew nothing about. They always told him she was stable and that the rest was good. There were moments her eyelids fluttered wildly in REM. During those times he gripped her hand and spoke soothing words to her. Sean could only imagine the kind of demons that roamed her nightmares.

He went back and forth to the waiting room to check in with P, though he never had any news. Finally, Sean urged him, “Go home. I’ll call you as soon as she wakes up.”

P had looked around wearily and held the steady gazes of children who took in his outfit with curiosity. “Maybe you’re right,” P said. “This outfit doesn’t exactly translate to daywear.”

Sean thought about texting Joon-ki or even Connor, but what could he say? There was no way he could talk to anyone without spilling why Harper was in the hospital to begin with. It might be half his child, but it was her body—and up to her whether she ever told anyone else or not.

Instead, he asked the nurse for a few pieces of paper from the copy machine and a pen. He lost himself in his imagination and dreamed up cloudless landscapes, magical creatures and beautiful scenery on the white blank sheets. The least he could do was create a miniature of a perfect world, one suitable for Harper and the baby that had gone.

There was a shift in the hum of the machines that made Sean look up. He’d just finished a pastoral landscape drenched with flowers drawn in aching detail. He imagined it to be the kind of place they might retire one day. Maybe in the English midlands, or some vast openness in the middle of the country he only knew in dreams.

Harper let out a soft moan and flexed her fingers.

“Hey,” he said as he stood up and leaned over the bed. “Welcome back.”

“What time is it?” she asked, groggy.

He glanced at the clock. “Almost three.”

“In the afternoon?”

“Yep. You slept most of the morning. Which is good.”

She tried to push herself into a seated position but flinched.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he said and propped an extra pillow below her.

“I’m sorry.” They were the first clear words she said.

“No more sorries.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “I feel like I, you know, I failed. At the first task of motherhood. Keep the baby alive, that was it. That was all I had to do.”

“You make it sound like that’s easy. Or that you even had much control over it. Do you remember what the doctor said? These kinds of things happen all the time.”

“They happen a lot more when you’re underweight. Malnourished,” she said. “God. I’m so sorry. I mean, I knew I had vitamin deficiencies. Anemia, all that. I hoped the prenatal vitamins would boost me back up, but—”

“You have no idea whether that had anything to do with it or not. And we’ll never know. So why worry about it?”

The nurse walked in as Harper started to protest more. “There’s our sleeping beauty,” she said. Her smile had the familiar slight tinge of coffee stains from daily habits, the same all the staff had. “Feeling better?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Harper muttered. “Can you tell me more? What happened—I mean, I know what happened. But why?”

“Harper—” Sean started, but she quieted him with a look.

“I need to know,” she said. “Was it me? Did I do something? Or … not do something?”

The nurse went about her tasks as she checked Harper’s vitals and the machines. “Miscarriages are a lot more common than most people think,” she said. “They’re most often caused by chromosomal abnormalities. Now, don’t let that worry you,” she said. “Even if that is the cause, which we can’t know, that in no way means that you won’t have a slew of babies in the future with no complications. It could also be a bunch of other reasons. If and when you’re ready to try again, it’s always best to work with an OBGYN before you even start trying. You can get tests to see what challenges you might face, and that can certainly give you peace of mind and help make future pregnancies easier.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll ‘try’ ever again,” Harper said. Sean squeezed her hand.

“You might and you might not,” the nurse said with a shrug. “All I can tell you for certain is it’s pretty pointless to think about such a big decision right here, right now.”

“Thank you,” Sean said. He meant it. The idea of actually planning a pregnancy seemed a world away. Still, there was a distinct sense of loss in the room. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted that baby, even under the circumstances.

“Yeah,” Harper whispered. “Thanks. When can I leave?”

“The doctor will come in to talk to you about that,” the nurse said. “I don’t expect you to stay overnight, but a little longer just for observation might be in order. Rest, relax. The café here is pretty good if you’re hungry—at least, relatively speaking,” she said with a wink.

They both listened to the nurse’s footsteps as she retreated down the hall.

“You know,” Sean said carefully, “don’t take this the wrong way. I’m devastated about the loss. Really. More so than I thought I would be. But there’s a part of me that’s also … relieved.”

“Relieved? Really?” Harper asked. She looked up at him with her doe eyes, but all he saw when he searched them was interest. There was no judgment.

“Yeah, kind of,” he admitted. “Just a little. I don’t think either of us were ready for that kind of responsibility. Not yet.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t agree. I mean, I was ready to make the best of it. But if it were totally up to me, up to us, to plan for something like this, it would definitely be down the road. And when I was, you know. Healthier.”

“Well, now it is completely up to us,” he said.

“I guess so,” Harper said. A slight smile played at her lips.

Sean sighed and pulled the chair beside her bed. “You know, I’m still counting the days since my relapse,” he said. “I try not to talk about it much, and think about it even less. But the day will come when you just stop counting and can’t remember off the top of your head how many days you’ve been sober. That’s kind of a small sign for me. But that day is still a ways out.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t fathom what that’s like.”

“Sure you can,” he said. “You’re still in rehab. It might be for something totally different, but there are similarities. Alcohol’s one kind of addiction, eating, or lack thereof, is kind of another.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she said.

“With alcohol, the goal is to avoid it,” he said. “In some ways, that’s a little easier. But with you, with the eating disorder, it’s about tackling it head-on every single day. You’re so much stronger than I could be.”

“Don’t say that,” she said. Harper squeezed his arm. “They’re just different, but both monsters.” She began to cry, slow and steady.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I know you’re right,” she said. “About everything, about the timing. About being relieved. But it still hurts. You know?”

“I know,” he said. “Trust me, I know. And when we’re ready, really ready, we’ll try again. Okay? We can have ten kids if that’s what you want.”

“You mean it?” she asked.

“Here,” he said and stretched out his hand. “Pinky swear.”

“I’m not pinky swearing on ten kids. You’re going to have to give my vagina some kind of break.”

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll just swear on trying. And waiting until we’re ready.”

“Deal,” she said and wound her finger around his.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “You want me to go check out the café? I saw some of the food delivered to the room and it’s not very impressive.”

“Can we just sit here for a moment? Just, you know … observe the loss? I think, after that, I can start to put this behind us.”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything you want.”

Sean eased back into the seat, and it finally gave. He’d conformed to it, or maybe it was the other way around. But he felt cradled, and Harper’s hand in his anchored him. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathe. Sean thought about how close they’d come to diving right into the deep end. It would have been scary, was scary, but also exhilarating.

You’ll have another chance, a voice inside him whispered. Maybe it was his, maybe it wasn’t. It was too quiet to tell.

When Harper squeezed his hand, he opened his eyes and looked at her. An open smile stretched across her face.

Sean stood up, leaned down and kissed her.

Harper wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks and nodded at him.

They didn’t need words or any more explanations. He knew intuitively what that meant. They were ready, bound together by all they’d had and all they’d lost. Now, without reservations, they could move on—together—into the luminous.