Price

An open folder with the termination paperwork lay on the table. Next to it was a cup of cold tea and her phone with a dozen unread messages from him. She was already reaching for the folder when there was a knock on the door. He stood there, holding an umbrella, raindrops on his shoulders, and a smile that seemed to say, "You're creating a miracle. And I want to be there when it happens." John Price. Your best friend, who was right there with you even now.

But how did it all start?

She stood there, clutching the test results, her heart pounding in her throat—whether from fear or a timid, yet-to-be-formed joy. Phrases swirled in her head: "He hugs me, says, 'Everything will be okay,' and we decide together what to do next..." But reality came crashing down on me like an icy shower.

• Sorry, I'm not ready. The words struck her softly, almost a whisper, but they reverberated within her with such a roar, as if the world had split into before and after. Time slowed. She watched him retreat to the door, grab his jacket, avoid her gaze—and each movement seemed to tear a piece of her soul from her.