Ben knew he had no right to touch her after everything he'd done over the past two days, which was why he'd asked in the first place instead of just walking over there and pulling her into his arms. Still, her refusal hurt. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to fix things — you can't fix this, the small voice told him, you don't know how. He wanted Melody to stop hurting, to be happy (you can't make her happy, you knew that, you've always known that). He wanted to turn back the clock to early January, when they'd forgiven each other and there was some hope that they could have started over. He wanted them to be okay (you won't ever be okay).

He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, as though pulling himself into a ball could tamp down the feeling of loss in his chest that was so big it threatened to spill out in every direction. He wanted a child, but somehow the news that he would soon have one had made everything so, so much worse.