She was pregnant, and the pregnancy was holding strong. I could not risk her well-being by delivering tragic news that would frighten and grieve her while she was still so fragile.
I told only one person: Victor, my best friend since we were twelve years old. He broke down on the phone when I confided in him, saying, “You’re going to have to be strong now, man. But you’ve always been stronger than you think.”
I believed him without a single doubt.
At a small shop near the airport, I bought two hand-knitted yellow sweaters because my mother had written to say she was decorating the nursery in soft yellow tones. Then I bought fresh white flowers from a roadside stand because white had always been Brenda’s favorite color.
I didn’t call ahead. I wanted to surprise my wife.
I imagined the front door opening. The look on her face. Holding our little girls. I was overwhelmed with joy.
