There have been years when I’ve longed for March to pass. All the talk of new life and fresh starts would make my stomach turn. It’s hard to feel joy when the time of year only reminds me of unexplained, sudden loss.
Six years ago, in an instant, my dreams of a future as part of a family of four disappeared like blossom on the breeze. After the beauty of that dream turned to dust, he walked away. I never saw him again.
I refused to let my dream fade to nothingness. I’d always set thirty-two as my cut-off point.
I stand, feeling the tentative rays of a practising sun caressing my skin. For once I don’t imagine the spring flowers are turning away from me in shame or fear.
The procedure had worked first time. I’d worried the first few months away. But now, as I pocket my keys and the taxi driver helps me with my bag, I feel a thud on either side of my abdomen. I heave myself into the taxi, smiling. I can’t wait to meet them.