Two years later, we were standing under an old oak tree, saying our vows. I wore my mother’s pearl earrings, and Daniel cried openly when he saw me walking down the aisle. We moved into a small wooden fixer-upper that he insisted he could handle himself. And he did. He spent weekends sanding floors, building shelves, and even crafted a rocking chair for me as an anniversary gift. That chair still sits on our porch.

Life felt full, even if it wasn’t perfect. The only thing missing was children. We tried for years. Doctors said my body wasn’t cooperating. With each negative test, I felt a little more broken. But Daniel never once blamed me. He would hold me on those nights when I cried, whispering, “Emily, this doesn’t change how much I love you.”