“This is your last chance,” Mazie said. Mazie was my best friend. Her son, Terry was the same age as my son, Danny.

“You tell me the same thing every month,” I said as I poured her another cup of coffee.

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“Some month it’s gonna be true. If it already isn’t true.”

“What are you saying?” For the first time, I was scared.

Mazie took a sip and hesitated before saying, “Well … you don’t even know if YOU can get pregnant anymore. It might not just be Mel. It’s been so long.”

“I still get my periods. On time, every month. And the doctor said I was still fertile.”

“Even so,” Mazie said. She raised her eyebrows.

It suddenly dawned on me she was right. Melvin and I had been trying desperately forever. Even more desperately these last five years since the accident that left him paralyzed, his legs useless and withered. We both wanted a child, but I suspected that having a second would make him feel more alive and vital once again.

“We tried normally a lot and then it’s been the in vitro that never worked, and now it’s going to be artificial insemination for the third and last time. Mazie, maybe you’re right.” I slumped into the chair at the kitchen table. Mazie got that look you get when you see a hurt you can’t heal, but want to try anyway.

“I’m sure it’s gonna work this time, Jan. I got a good feeling. I’m betting in two weeks or so you’ll be expecting again and all this talk will be something we’ll laugh about.”

She patted my hand and rubbed my arm to comfort me, but I didn’t feel any comfort. All of a sudden, lots of things I never said before were streaming out: “It’s Mel. It’s pitiful. It was pitiful before, but now, after the accident …”

“It can’t be that—”

“It’s...