Margaret Doyle — The House They Thought Was Theirs
“Are you?”
Kendra looked at her untouched coffee.
“I’m pregnant.
I haven’t had the appointment that could tell us anything more.
She has already bought blue blankets.”
A long silence settled between us.
“Whatever happens between you and Gordon,” I said, “you’re entitled to decide who you want to be in that family.
Don’t let anyone tell you that gratitude requires surrender.”