The nursery door was open.

Sunlight fell across the soft green wall, making the yellow stars above the crib shine.

A tiny cardigan hung over the back of the rocking chair.

On the dresser was a framed ultrasound picture with a little note in Hannah’s handwriting: We are waiting for you, Hope.

I stood there longer than I expected.

The room had once looked like a celebration.

Now it looked like the scene of a promise nobody knew how to keep.