“We have done our job. They have their own homes, their own children, and their own worries.”
“I know.”
He took my hand.
“But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to start again.”
I lifted my head.
“Start what again?”
“Having a little one in the house.”
I thought he was joking.
“Samuel, if you bring a baby into this house, I will personally take you to the nearest nursery and leave you there.”
He laughed so hard that he had to wipe his eyes.
“You’re impossible, Eleanor.”
“And you are sixty-eight.”
“I know how old I am.”
“Then behave like it.”
He kissed my forehead, and I assumed the conversation was over.
It was not.
Over the following weeks, he began reading about fertility treatments and medical advances. He collected newspaper articles and printed information from the internet. He even spoke to a man at church whose daughter had become a mother later in life.
