Page 129 of When Wildflowers Bloom

But I don’t argue.

Hand in hand, we sit in the exam room, waiting for the worst.

After blood is drawn, urine samples taken, and all vital signs checked, the doctor comes in.

“Birdie, it’s good to see you,” she says, smiling.

As much as I want to say, “You too,” I stay quiet.

It does nothing to prepare me for what she says next—nothing can.

She shows me my chart, pointing to indicators and numbers, and the world stops spinning.

I hear, “It’s early,” and, “You’re young and healthy.”

But it’s a scream that comes out of my mouth anyway and a sob-filled, “No!” that bounces off the sterile walls.

Because how? How the hell did this happen?

I sag in my seat, the gravity of the moment pulling me to the floor. Bo grips onto me and holds me both upright and together. Arms wrapped around me, he hushes me through my sobs.

“Birdie, I’ll be right here with you the whole time,” he whispers into my hair as he rubs my back. “We got this.”

And as devastatingly hopeless as that feels, I know he will. Because he always is. Because Bo is a goodness I didn’t know to look for, and I know will stay, for better or worse.

He’ll love me, and I’ll let him.

Epilogue

Bo, one year later

I’ve never been muchfor visiting graves—of course not. Someone that hikes in the woods and calls it church wouldn’t cling to something so traditional. The truth is, it never had anything to do with being traditional or not, it just never made sense before now.

Staring at the familiar name on the headstone, I know my life would have been so different without her. Lacking. Maybe even meaningless.

Now, I just wish she was here to see it all.Them.Just once. She would have loved us. She already did.

It was as if that day we got the news in that doctor’s office was what she had been preparing me—us—for all along.

“You were right,” I say with a slight laugh, kneeling down on the near frozen January ground. I put a hand on the stone, cool and smooth. “About everything.”

Then, like she’s there, a wind blows by, shaking the sticks on the bare trees. A rustle of hello or goodbye or both. Or, knowing her, neither.

When I stand, two little hands fit into each of mine—Lucy and Huck stand by my side, smiling.

“Huck wonders if you miss her,” he says in his loud voice.

I nod, squeezing his hand, looking at his now nine-year-old face and smiling. “Every day.” I mean it. Every day I miss her, wishing we would have had just a little more time together.

“Me too,” Lucy says, dropping my hand to wrap my leg in a hug. “Can we go home now, Daddy? It’s freezing out here.”

I chuckle as I look at them—not bound by blood, but siblings through and through.

“We just got out here!” I tease, earning a unified groan from both of them.

“Hey, don’t leave before I get to say hi,” a voice calls from behind.

Both kids giggle as Birdie slips her hand around my waist.

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