You could love your wife more than any man has ever loved a wife, but one harrowing battle with infertility could turn a couple’s love into resentment.
But even after years of tragedy wearing us down, I refuse to give in just yet. I don’t know if flying to Europe with the box we closed on our wedding night will make it better or worse. I don’t know that a grandiose gesture will convince you of how incomplete my life is without you. But I can’t go another day without trying to prove to you how inconsequential children are when it comes to the fate of my future with you. I don’t need children, Quinn. I only need you. I don’t know how I can stress that enough.
But even still, no matter how content I am with this life, it doesn’t mean you are content with yours.
When I get to Europe, a final decision will be made and I have a feeling I’m not going to want to agree to that decision. If I could avoid the conversation with you forever just to keep you from deciding to open the box, I would. But that’s where we went wrong. We stopped talking about all the things that should never have been silenced.
I have no idea what’s best for us anymore. I want to be with you, but I don’t want to be with you when my presence causes you so much pain. So much has changed between us in the time since we closed the box on our wedding night to now. Our circumstances changed. Our dreams changed. Our expectations changed. But the most important thing between us never changed. We lost a lot of ourselves in this marriage, but we have never stopped loving each other. It’s the one thing that stood strong against those Category 5 moments. I realize now that sometimes two people can lose their hope or their desire or their happiness, but losing all those things doesn’t mean you’ve lost.
We haven’t lost yet, Quinn.
And no matter what has happened since we closed this box or what will happen after we open it, I promise to love you through it all.
I promise to love you more when you’re hurting than when you’re happy.
I promise to love you more when we’re poor than when we’re swimming in riches.
I promise to love you more when you’re crying than when you’re laughing.
I promise to love you more when you’re sick than when you’re healthy.
I promise to love you more when you hate me than when you love me.
I promise to love you more as a childless woman than I would love you as a mother.
And I promise . . . I swear . . . that if you choose to end things between us, I will love you more as you’re walking out the door than on the day you walked down the aisle.
I hope you choose the road that will make you the happiest. Even if it’s not a choice I’ll love, I will still always love you. Whether I’m a part of your life or not. You deserve happiness more than anyone I know.
I love you. Forever.
Graham
I don’t know how long I cry after reading the final letter. Long enough that my head hurts and my stomach aches and I’ve gone through half a box of Kleenex. I cry for so long, I get lost in the grief.
Graham is holding me.
I don’t know when he walked into the room, or when he knelt on the bed, or when he pulled me to his chest.
He has no idea what I’ve even decided. He has no idea if the words about to come out of my mouth are going to be nice ones or hateful ones. Yet here he is, holding me as I cry, simply because it hurts him to see me cry.
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. And I don’t know if it takes five minutes or half an hour, but when I finally stop crying long enough to speak, I lift my head from his chest and look at him.
“Graham,” I whisper. “I love you more in this moment than any moment that has come before it.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, the tears begin to fall from his eyes. “Quinn,” he says, holding my face. “Quinn . . .”
It’s all he can say. He’s crying too hard to say anything else. He kisses me and I kiss him back with everything in me in an attempt to make up for all the kisses I denied him.
I close my eyes, repeating the words from his letter that reached me the deepest.
We haven’t lost yet, Quinn.
He’s right. We might have finally given up at the same time, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get back that hope. I want to fight for him. I want to fight for him as hard as he’s been fighting for me.
“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” he whispers against my cheek. “For everything.”
I shake my head, not even wanting an apology. But I know he needs my forgiveness, so I give it to him. “I forgive you. With everything I am, Graham. I forgive you and I don’t blame you and I am so sorry, too.”
Graham wraps his arms around me and holds me. We remain in the same position for so long, my tears have dried, but I’m still clinging to him with everything in me. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure I never let go of him again.
Chapter Twenty-nine
* * *
Then
I couldn’t imagine a better way to end our first anniversary—wrapped up in a blanket outside, listening to the waves crash against the shore. It’s the perfect moment for the perfect gift.
“I have something for you,” I say to Graham.
He’s the one who usually surprises me with gifts, so the fact that I have one for him grabs his attention. He looks at me with anticipation and pulls the blanket away from me, pushing me out of the chair. I run inside and then return with his package. It’s wrapped in Christmas paper, even though it’s not even close to Christmas.
“It’s all I could find,” I say. “I didn’t have time to wrap it before I left, so I had to wrap it with what was in the closet here.”
He begins to open it, but before he even has the wrapping paper off, I blurt out, “It’s a blanket. I made it.”
He laughs. “You are so terrible at surprises.” He pulls away the tissue paper and reveals the blanket I made out of ripped pieces of our clothing. “Are these . . .” He lifts up one of his ripped work shirts and laughs.
We sometimes have issues with keeping our clothing intact when we’re pulling them off each other. I think I’ve ripped a half dozen of Graham’s shirts, at least. Graham has ripped several of mine. Sometimes I do it because I love the dramatics of the buttons popping off. I don’t remember when it started, but it’s become a game to us. A pricey game. Which is why I decided to put some of the discarded clothing to good use.
“This is the best gift anyone has ever given me.” He throws the blanket over his shoulder and then picks me up. He carries me inside and lays me on the bed. He rips my nightgown off of me and then he rips his own shirt for show. The whole scene has me laughing until he climbs on top of me and smothers my laugh with his tongue.
Graham lifts my knee and starts to push himself inside me, but I press against his chest. “We need a condom,” I whisper breathlessly.
I was on antibiotics last week for a cold I was trying to get over so I haven’t been taking my pill. We’ve had to use condoms all week as a preventative measure.
Graham rolls off me and walks to his duffel bag. He grabs a condom, but he doesn’t immediately come back to the bed. He just stares at it. Then he tosses it back onto the bag.