My husband became an organ donor as his final wish — after he d!ed, his doctor stopped me and said, “There’s something he made me promise to give you only after he was gone.”

Baby names.

Nursery colors.

Whether the baby would have my eyes or Mark’s smile.

We laughed about names we both hated.

At one point, Mark suggested Clementine.

I laughed so hard that I nearly cried.

Then, one afternoon, the baby kicked beneath my hand at exactly the right moment.

We looked at each other.

And somehow, we both knew.

Cecelia.

That would be her name.

For a while, our happiness seemed complete.

Then, during my sixth month of pregnancy, everything changed.

Mark became seriously ill.

At first, we thought it was something manageable.

Then came the tests.

The appointments.

The specialists.

The conversations that became increasingly difficult to hear.

Eventually, the doctors gave us the news neither of us was prepared for.

Mark was dying.