Page 60 of Muskoka Miracle

“It might be good news.”

“I hope so.”

“So do I.” He kissed her cheek, then held her a long moment. How would they cope if it wasn’t? Probably as they did already. Not very well, imperfectly, as she’d said to Boyd the other day, but trying to trust God.

He exhaled. “We should probably go check, right?”

She nodded. “At least that way we’ll know instead of having this question mark hang over us.”

“Rip off the band-aid?”

“Then we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Right.”

They moved to the sofa, and he tucked her in his arms as she opened the email app on her phone. “You ready for this?”

Nope. “Sure.”Please Lord. “Whatever the result, I love you.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I love you too. And God loves us as well.”

He did. Dan needed to remember that.

He watched over her shoulder as she scrolled to her emails and opened the one from Dr. McKinnon. Held his breath as she tapped on the screen and enlarged the font so he could read the words more easily.

The words that said, according to the blood tests, their chromosomes compatibility was very low, and their chances of having a live birth, let alone a healthy baby, was negligible, not a viable option. That any child that might survive would likely have—“brain damage.”

Sarah gasped, and he felt himself stiffen. Then his arm clutched her strongly. And she burrowed into his chest.

“I love you, Princess.” He stroked her hair as she sobbed next to his heart. His battered, near-broken heart. His own tears escaped, and he thumbed them away. She didn’t need to see his tears. He had to be strong, even as his doubts assailed. How could God do this to them? Why could other people fall pregnant and then abort their child, while they desperately wanted one and couldn’t? Well, according to this report, they could fall pregnant, but the likelihood of reaching full term was incredibly low.

He might love this woman, they might be a perfect match in so many ways, but it seemed they were incompatible in one of the most fundamental ways, and couldn’t have a child together.

Her tears eased, and she hiccupped and then lay her cheek on his chest. He shifted, and they lay on the sofa, her in his arms, as the news sank in.

He wouldn’t be a dad. Wouldn’t get the chance to make up for the past. And that was something he’d thought he’d dealt with, but life had a way of prodding to see if that wound was truly healed. And God might be Jehovah Rapha, the Lord who healed, but healing wasn’t always an easy or quick thing. This would take time to process, time to recover from.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She nodded, kissed his hand. “I love you too.”

“I’m sorry this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s not what either of us wanted.”

“But God is still good, right?”

Her voice came as a whisper. “Right.”

“And God can still do miracles.”

“He can.”

It was funny. His heart was bowed, battered, and bruised, yet he sensed these words needed to be said, that their ears, the very atmosphere in this room, needed to be filled with words of faith. “And God still loves us, still has good plans for us.”

“Amen.”

Amen. He placed a hand over her abdomen. “Lord, heal us.”

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