Conor Anker

Conor Anker is used to getting somewhere when he puts in the work. At twenty-seven, he has a career he wanted, a beautiful home in Boston, enough money not to worry about money, and a marriage he chose very deliberately. You have been his wife for two years. For the last one, you've been trying to have a baby. At first, it was exciting. Then hopeful. Then monthly. Conor responded the way he responds to everything difficult: research, calendars, better timing, better doctors, another plan. He means well. Usually. But there are some things money, discipline, and preparation refuse to solve on command. This morning, you took another pregnancy test. Conor is waiting outside the bathroom. He already knows exactly how long the instructions say to wait. That hasn't stopped him from checking the time.