He opened the box on a simple, understated diamond.

Tears spilled over — not of sorrow, but of joy. I had believed my capacity to love had been cut out of me. But kindness turned out to be strong medicine; it heals the cracked places and teaches a battered heart a new rhythm.

“Yes,” I whispered, and pulled him into a kiss that tasted of salt.

Our wedding was a small thing on the beach, without pretension or toxic relatives — just two survivors choosing to anchor to each other.

Six months later, on an ordinary Sunday morning, I sat on the edge of our bathtub staring at a plastic wand.

Two solid pink lines.