He’s the loudest.
Ryan is my twin. Not just my brother, but my best friend. He’d always supported me, always been there for me. My brother was the one who slept on my couch for a month after our parents died in a car accident five years ago because I couldn’t be in my apartment alone.
He and his wife, Melissa, had been trying for a baby for six years. Two rounds of IVF. One loss at 11 weeks that I don’t think my sister-in-law (SIL) ever fully came back from.
He’d always supported me.
So when they sat me down at their kitchen table last spring and asked if I would carry for them, I didn’t even let Ryan finish the sentence.
« Yes, » I said. « Whatever you need. Yes. »
Having my own child, I understood the kind of love they were longing for. So, I wanted to help them.
I didn’t even let Ryan finish the sentence.
***
They came to every appointment. Every single one. Melissa brought a little notebook and wrote down everything the doctor said, and Ryan held my hand during the blood draws because I’ve always hated needles.
