Moonlight on stained glass sheds a soft glow in the small church.

Rows of wooden pews march away behind me, hymnals and bibles and tiny pencils in the shelves. There’s a cross on the wall, with elaborately painted stained glass windows on either side. A pulpit stage right, a piano stage left. Arrangements of flowers line the steps leading up to the stage.

It is utterly silent.

It’s late, but the pastor of this church, who had been about to leave, let me in, turned on a few lights, and then retreated to his study to give me privacy, after inquiring whether he could pray for me.

I said I didn’t know, that I needed somewhere to sit and just be.

So, here I sit, in the front row. I stare at the cross on the wall, and let myself remember Henry.

I let myself cry for him.

I haven’t been on the pew for very long when I hear the church door creak open—it’s Chris. I feel him.

His steps are slow and measured as he walks down the center aisle and sits beside me.

I don’t look at him right away, and he doesn’t speak. For long minutes, we just sit together in the sacred silence of the church, lost in our memories.

When I glance at Christian, finally, I notice he has something in his hands. A piece of paper. I glance at it, and then at Christian, quizzically. He hands it to me, and I take it, look at it.

It’s a photograph of Henry and me, on printer paper. Grainy, but it’s the image that counts, in this case. In it, Henry is a few weeks old. I’m sitting on our couch in Ft. Lauderdale, and Henry is in my arms, propped up in a sitting position on my lap. He has his fist in his mouth, and he’s grinning. My smile is genuine and bright, but tired. It’s just a quick snapshot, but it makes me weep.

“It was in my email,” he says, by way of explanation. “I sent it to you, remember? I took it, and you asked me to send it to you so you could put it up on Instagram or something. You meant text it to you, but I emailed it, for some reason.”

“I thought you forgot.” I say it through sniffles.

He sighs, head hanging between. “I did, sort of. I don’t know how to explain it. I could never forget, not really. But I just…I don’t know. I’m sorry. I should have been there for you, today.”

I slide closer to him, lean against him; rest my head on his shoulder. “I miss him, Chris,” I say, gazing at the photograph. “I miss being a mom.”

“I know. Me too.” It’s all he says, but it encompasses a lot—his understanding of what I mean, and his own similar pain.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” I say. “Why did I come to a church? I don’t know. It just…it was the only place I could think of.”

“An unconscious instinct for comfort, maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

He sighs. “I read your emails with Delta, because I couldn’t figure out where you were. And then, when I realized, I knew exactly where you’d be. I knew you’d be here.”

I fight tears. “I just…I miss him so damn bad, Chris. It hurts. It just…it still hurts.”

He wraps an arm around me. “I know, honey. I know.”

“And I just get angry,” I say. “I get angry at God for taking him.”

“Me too.”

A long silence, and then Chris reaches into his pocket again, and pulls out something else. A small black box. He opens it, revealing three rings nestled together on the black velvet.

He plucks up one of the rings, shows it to me. “I’ve had these for a few days, and was waiting for the right time to give them to you. This feels like it.”

The ring is simple, a princess cut diamond solitaire on a thin titanium band. Around the inside an inscription is engraved: Ava—you are my everything.

I sniffle with happiness and relief as I slide the ring onto my finger, admiring the way the dim lights reflect on the diamond, soaking up the joy of having a ring on my finger again.

“God, Chris. I don’t—I don’t know what to say, besides thank you.”

“New rings, for a new life, right?” He lifts out the other two rings, matching titanium wedding bands, simple and beautiful. Slides the smaller onto my finger to stack against the diamond.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he whispers.

I take the larger band from him and slide it onto his ring finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” I echo.

He touches his forehead to mine. “I love you, Ava.”

“I love you too, Chris.” I glance at our hands, at our fingers tangled together. “I have something for you, too, actually.”

I sit up, shifting away from him a little. Dig in the back pocket of my jeans and pull something out. Hold it in my hands. Stare down at it, marveling at the confused mix of emotions the object causes.

Christian glances at me, at the object in my hands. “What’s that?”

“The other reason I’m here,” I say. “I’m not sure what I believe, totally, but if there is a God, he sure has a strange sense of timing.”

I hand Christian the object. It is long and slender and white, with a blue cap. Christian takes it, and stares at it.

Then he glances at me, his expression carefully neutral. “Ava…”

There is a small rectangular box in the middle of the object, within which, in gray digital lettering, is a single word: PREGNANT.

“Are you…are you for real?” Christian’s eyes pierce mine, searching.

I see emotion begin to bleed through his careful wall of hesitancy.

I nod. “That’s the third test I’ve taken today.” I breathe out shakily. “I haven’t had a period since we were on the RV, which means I’m about four to six weeks along.”

He stands up, the test still in one hand, and paces away. Stops, facing the cross, and a hand passes through his hair—he cut it when he started at the college, but left the beard, albeit neatly trimmed; it’s a mature, handsome, rugged look on him, and I love it.

I watch him process what I’ve just revealed to him.

Abruptly, startling me, he spins, takes a lurching step, and falls to his knees in front of me. Puts his body between my thighs and takes my face in his hands.

“You’re…pregnant?” He whispers the word hesitantly, as if to speak it out loud might change it.

I nod, smiling through my tears. “I’m pregnant.”

Joy floods his features, and he takes me by the hands, pulls me to my feet. He takes me in his arms with sudden, fierce strength, and spins me around so my feet leave the ground. I squeal in surprised laughter, which severs the moment. Christian sets me back down, more carefully.

“Sorry, sorry. I just…” His eyes roam my body, as if he could see some sign already.

I shake my head, laughing. “Don’t be.” I stroke his beard, nuzzling against him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d…how you’d feel.” I’m hesitant, admitting it. In the face of his joy, now, the doubts I felt earlier now feel foolish.

He hugs me, intense but gentle, as if I’m fragile, rather than merely six weeks pregnant. “I’m glad. I’m happy. I’m excited. I’m—I don’t know. A million things I don’t know how to express, right now.”

“Me too.” I cling to him. “I’m a little scared, too, though.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. I am too. But it’s going to be okay. Okay?”

I nod, and I believe him.

I feel it.

I know it.

His palm covers my belly. “I love you.”

I laugh, gazing up at him. “Are you talking to me, or my uterus?”

He lets out a breath, a great, shuddering sigh. “Both, my love.”