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The next day, Nia and I sit down at the table with my siblings and their spouses for a big Thanksgiving. Around me, there’s laughter, teasing, real happiness. But beside me, Nia is subdued, her smile stilted as she speaks, but only when spoken to. I’m preoccupied and, I admit, taciturn. She didn’t refuse my proposal…but she didn’t accept. Nothing—not a beautiful diamond, a gorgeous house in paradise, nor my pledge of undying fidelity—could distract her from insisting that I declare my till-death-do-us-part love. What void does she think my promise of an emotion that’s neither tangible nor valuable will fill in her? Is she looking for adoration? Belonging? Security?

About halfway through the meal, I’m still in thought when Noah’s younger brother, Trace, barrels through the front door, schlepping a huge tote on one shoulder covered in stars and rocket ships. In his other hand, he grips a baby carrier.

“Hi, gang. Sorry I’m late. Someone didn’t want to wake up from his nap.” He turns the carrier toward the crowd gathered at the table to reveal his infant son.

“Oh, he looks so precious,” Harlow arches out of her chair and onto her feet, busting across the floor to lift the boy into her arms.

“He is.” Trace looks absolutely enthralled by his newborn son. “Good eater. Good sleeper. This single-parent thing isn’t so bad so far.”

I know this story, mostly because Harlow has been keeping me up to date over the months. Trace met a woman named Mercedes at Noah’s final Super Bowl victory party, just before he announced his retirement from football. Mercedes assumed Trace was Noah. It’s an easy mistake since they look a lot alike. When she found out she was pregnant, she publicly named Noah as her baby’s father. The accusation nearly tore Harlow and Noah apart. Finally, Trace realized he had fathered the boy that drunken night. When Mercedes caught wind of the fact her baby daddy was no meal ticket, she signed over her parental rights hours after giving birth to Ranger. Since then, Trace has been getting the hang of caring for an infant, apparently with a lot of help from Britta, who also cared for her infant son solo a few years before she and Griff reconciled and married.

The baby fusses a little, then quiets, seeming to stare up at Harlow with solemn eyes already turning dark. He looks exactly like his father, all the way down to the thick black hair and square chin.

If Becca were still here, our son or daughter would be this age.

I swallow, stare. My appetite disappears. My mood blackens.

Beside me, Nia rises to stand beside my sister, suddenly wearing a bright-eyed smile. “Oh… What a cutie. You’re going to be a heartbreaker. Aren’t you, big boy?” Then she looks up at Trace. “Sorry. We haven’t met. I’m Nia.”

“I have terrible manners.” Harlow laughs at herself. “Trace, this is Evan’s girlfriend.” She turns to Nia. “This is Noah’s brother.”

“Good to meet you.” Trace divests himself of all the baby accouterments. “And you’re right about Ranger. He’s already a heartbreaker. He and Daddy get along pretty well, but the minute a woman shows up, he smiles and flirts shamelessly. I could probably take tips from him.”

“You know when babies are only a couple of weeks old the smiling is probably the relief of passing gas,” Britta drawls.

Trace looks totally blindsided by that comment. The table erupts with laughter.

“Really?” Griff turns to his wife. “You’re serious?”

She grins his way as she rubs her distended belly. “Just wait. Parenting a three-year-old is full of challenges, as you’ll be reminded the minute Jamie wakes from his nap. But newborns? A whole different game…”

Suddenly, Griff looks nervous.

“Can I hold him?” Nia asks Trace.

“Sure. Just don’t be surprised if he flirts with—or farts on—you, too.”

With a laugh, she lifts the boy into her arms.

She coos at Ranger and strokes his cheek. I see warmth in her eyes. Her yearning. Her heart. My gut churns. Yes, Nia told me she wouldn’t be content to remain childless. Some women are, and I’d hoped… But the way mine is immediately enthralled by the baby tells me she really will want at least one of her own—sooner rather than later.

Gulping, I stare. Today I’m supposed to give thanks for everything in my life. But what the hell do I have? Money and success, sure. Intelligence? I’m told I do. But my wife is gone, my son or daughter died before he or she had any chance at life, and now I can’t convince the one woman I want to fill the emptiness to marry me. Looking at Nia with Ranger, I’m beginning to wonder if I could even make her happy.

“Wow, he’s heavier than I thought,” Nia remarks. “How much does he weigh?”

“Isn’t he a chunker?” Trace laughs. “We saw the doctor yesterday, and he’s already twelve pounds, two ounces. He’s at the top of the height and weight chart, and he won’t even be three weeks old until Saturday.”

I do some mental math. Shock decimates me. “He was born November fourth?”

The question slips out before I can stop it.

Trace turns to me. “Hey, Evan. How you doing, man?”

When he sticks his hand in my direction, I stand and shake it. But I’m desperate for the answer to my question. I don’t even know why. It shouldn’t bother me that his son was born the day mine should have been. It’s coincidence. Ranger isn’t the child who was growing in Becca’s womb. His birth won’t bring my baby back.

But the something buckling my chest and smashing my composure isn’t hearing logic.

“I’m good,” I finally choke out. “You?”