“Oh, I had completely forgotten,” I said, a wave of guilt washing over me. “Next Friday is our seventh wedding anniversary.”

“How about we go out to eat?” James suggested from the kitchen. “I feel like having French cuisine.”

I turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, a knowing grin on his face. “I thought you might say that. So, I’ve already made a reservation at a French place in Brooklyn.”

“Really? Thank you!” I threw my arms around him. As I stuffed my mouth with perfectly seasoned fried rice a few minutes later, I couldn’t help but marvel at how seven years had passed so quickly. Our life was good. It was stable. But there was a hollow space in it, an unspoken ache that had grown with each passing year. We didn’t have children.