Of course.
Years of trying together.
Then one embryo after he was declared dead.
Noah.
"Did my mother know?"
"Before?"
"Yes."
Hannah shook her head.
"I told her after the transfer."
Aaron almost smiled.
"How did that go?"
"She didn't speak to me for three days."
That sounded like Denise.
"Then she came over with prenatal vitamins and six books."
Aaron actually smiled.
For one second.
Hannah saw it.
He immediately looked away.
"Did everyone think it was insane?"
"Some people."
"Was it legal?"
"Yes."
Hannah hesitated.
"Complicated, but yes. The consent paperwork we had signed allowed continued reproductive use by the surviving spouse under certain conditions."
Aaron stared.
"I signed that?"
"Years ago."
He vaguely remembered stacks of paperwork.
Nobody read every possible scenario when building a life.
No one imagined captivity.
Presumed death.
Posthumous conception.
Hannah whispered, "You once joked that if you got hit by a bus, at least I could still have your babies."
Aaron remembered.
The clinic nurse had looked horrified.
Hannah had laughed so hard she cried.
The memory felt cruel now.
"What did you tell Noah?"
Hannah looked confused.
"He's eleven months old."
"I mean everyone else."
"That he was yours."
"People believed it?"
"I showed no interest in making anyone believe anything."
Her tone became firmer.
"Anyone who mattered knew about the embryos."
Aaron nodded.
Another thought struck.
"Why isn't your ring on?"
Hannah looked at her hand.
Her face changed.
Aaron waited.
She whispered, "Because I buried you."
His jaw tightened.
"I wasn't dead."
"I know that now."
"You took it off."
"After Noah was born."
"Why?"
Hannah stared at him.
"Because wearing it started feeling like I was pretending you might still walk through the door."
Aaron looked toward the house.
Which was exactly what happened.
She continued.
"I didn't date anyone."
Aaron turned.
"I didn't ask."
"You were thinking it."
He could not deny it.
Hannah said, "There isn't anyone else."
"Why should I believe that?"
She flinched.
Aaron regretted the question immediately.
But captivity had changed trust.
People lied for food.
For safety.
For ideology.
For pleasure.
For fear.
Hannah lowered her head.
"You don't have to believe anything today."
Aaron exhaled.
That answer was smarter than defending herself.
They stood in silence.
Then Noah began crying inside.
Hannah automatically looked toward the door.
Aaron saw the maternal reflex.
"Go."
She hesitated.
"You sure?"
"He's your son."
Hannah looked at him.
"Our son."
Aaron said nothing.