I adopted the oldest dog in the shelter, knowing she had only a few weeks to live. My husband, Daniel, and I had long ago settled into a life that, on the surface, seemed stable. We owned a modest home in a quiet neighborhood, held steady jobs, and paid our bills on time. From the outside, we looked like a couple who had done everything right. Inside, however, the silence between us had grown heavy over the years. We had spent nearly half our marriage trying to have children, clinging to hope that slowly turned sharp with each disappointment. Eventually, the conversations stopped. We drifted into routines, filling our days with work, errands, and obligations, carefully avoiding the loss we could no longer speak aloud.
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