I did not look at the nurse.

I looked at Christopher.

“Test this.”

I have replayed his face in that moment more times than I can count.

Everything drained out of it at once.

He looked at the bag the way you would look at a thing that had come back from the dead, because in a sense it had — he had bagged that dinner, tied the knot himself, carried it to his car, and here it was, in a nurse’s hand, under the hospital lights, impossible.

“That’s—” His voice climbed and cracked.