Unexpectedly, her hazel eyes flooded with tears. She fumbled with the knob on the kitchen door and struggled to hang on to her awkward burdens as the old grief threatened to overwhelm her again.

“Damn. Not again. Not today of all days. I thought I had finally cried all the tears I had. I said never again.” She clenched her jaw against the pain. Even in her despair, Beth knew there was nothing predictable about what small thing would trigger her sorrow. She had been through this so many times before.

Eric began his campaign to move to this neighborhood shortly after they were married. Beth loved their loft in the city, filled with light and open spaces, plants in every corner, rich with the memories of their courtship. “It was great when we were single,” Eric grinned with that glint in his dark brown eyes, “but we’ll have no privacy when the children come. Besides, a child needs a dog and a yard and a swing set. Come on. Let’s practice while you get used to the idea of moving.”

And practice they did, eagerly; birth control was left in the drawer.

Patiently Eric encouraged her to consider a move out of the city. As the months passed and she did not get pregnant, he suggested that getting away from the smog, traffic noise and constant sirens would relax them and help the process. Reluctantly Beth agreed. She finally convinced her boss to let her telecommute and left her office in the city to work from home.

A year later, on their first anniversary, five years ago on this day, Eric had won. The loft gave way to a two story cookie cutter house in the suburbs, complete with white picket fence and three empty bedrooms waiting for children. Eric was in his element; he soon had the yard landscaped and polished; it became the talk of the neighborhood. Beth, uncertain of her place in that setting, managed to eke a few vegetables from the sandy soil. Growing things had always been their passion. To outward appearances they were the perfect suburban couple.

But vegetables and shrubs were all they had managed to grow. The bedrooms remained as empty as Beth’s womb. Curtains on the windows hid their vacancy from observers on the street but not from Beth’s or Eric’s hearts. Some days Beth stood in the vacant rooms and cried. Closed doors lining the hall sent silent messages to Eric; he knew then Beth was still in mourning. Other days, when the pain was less intense, light flooded the hallway as the doors to the bedrooms were flung open.

They endured visits to the doctors and passed all the tests. There were no obvious reasons why Beth did not get pregnant. With nothing to fix, advanced fertility treatments were doubtful and well beyond what they could afford. They would not burden themselves with debt which would force Beth back to an office just when a baby might come into their lives.

Several months ago Eric mentioned the possibility of adoption. A long dark hallway followed; he knew Beth was not ready to give up hope of having a child of their own.

For the last week Beth hinted about the surprise she had waiting for Eric on their anniversary. Her gift to Eric was sitting on the kitchen counter. She smiled through her tears as her hand caressed the large, deceptive box. Eric would be delighted. She had a special dinner awaiting the finishing touches, candles poised on the table prepared to offer a soft light, and wine chilling.

Beth glanced at the clock. Would the hour before Eric was due home be enough to hide her red eyes and finish dinner? She took a deep breath and stood tall. She would not ruin Eric’s happiness on this day.

Dinner was a success. Along with Eric’s favorite dessert of rhubarb crunch with vanilla ice cream, Beth brought in the box. Anticipation lit his eyes. Beth’s heart pounded as presented her gift. Would his reaction fit her expectations?

Methodically as Eric did everything he peeled off the tape and removed the wrapping and lifted the lid. Under the crumbled tissue were only a few pieces of paper: the application from the adoption agency. The grin on Eric’s face was all the reaction Beth needed.