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She closed her eyes, refusing to let more tears seep out.

The taunts hovered in the air: You can’t give him what he most wants.

You’re a failure. You’re broken. But even as her heart wrenched, she recognized these held the hiss of the pit of hell.

She wasn’t a failure. God said she wasn’t.

And the devil could try to lie and make her feel less than those women who could bear children, but that didn’t make them any better.

She was loved by God just as much as they.

She knew that. Knew it. She hoped Dan knew that too.

She dozed a little, startling awake when his Jeep hit a rough patch of road. She shifted.

“We’re almost there,” Dan said.

“Thanks for driving,” she murmured.

“Of course.” He peered across at her. His grim expression softened a little. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Achy.”

“The doctor said that was to be expected.”

The doctor. As if reminded by that last word her abdomen tightened again. She groaned, placed a hand on her midriff.

“Oh, Princess.”

Dan’s shadowed face held gauntness, like he hadn’t eaten in days. She hoped he’d find a way to get back to some kind of normality now. She winced. Normality. Childless. That was their normal, it appeared.

But no. She refused to live defeated. This might be their normal now, but God was able to do anything.

God had blessed the barren with children.

Look at Hannah in the Bible. Look at Rachel.

Look at Sarah, her namesake, for goodness sake.

Sarah had been an old woman when God had blessed her with a baby.

God hadn’t changed. He could still do such miracles today.

She hoped this retreat to Muskoka would help her soul remember that. And remind Dan of that truth, too.

* * *

The trees were silently dancing, their branches swaying to the breeze as the sun edged its way past the heavy clouds.

Since arriving two days ago, Sarah had barely moved from the easy chair in front of the huge picture windows that overlooked the lake.

Lake Muskoka had always been a place of healing, and right now that was exactly what was needed.

Escaping T.O. had been a godsend. Coming here to Muskoka was always good, but the hoped-for healing was taking longer than he’d hoped.

He only had another day or two before they’d have to head back.

He’d missed two more games. Fortunately, they’d been away games, which meant for the next few games he’d be around, but still, the compassionate leave would only extend so far.

At least Muskoka was doing Sarah good. She’d barely moved from her sunny position overlooking the deck, the chaise lounge good for lying on, listening to music, reading, or sleeping.

These past few days she’d been amazing, a pillar of strength, despite having had most of the stuffing knocked out of her.

He didn’t know why she was so strong, and he felt so empty and weak.

Maybe it was because she’d been down this road before, had suffered more recently than he had, when Stephen had died.

Sarah had been depressed for months, and the girl he’d first met out here had been a shadow of who she was today.

She’d had to learn a lot about overcoming, so maybe that had helped her deal with the grief now.

That made one of them. He knew he wasn’t coping.

He was keeping things together by the skin of his teeth, and he suspected he wasn’t fooling Sarah any, but he couldn’t break down in front of her.

Not like he really wanted. Still, the fact he wanted to break down and she was teary, but still seemed to possess an unlooked-for strength made other questions rise.

Horrible thoughts that taunted and jeered.

Like, maybe she was glad to be over the pain.

Or maybe she hadn’t wanted the baby as much as he did.

He guessed it would be hard for anyone to feel quite like he had, for she sure hadn’t done any of the things that still sometimes made him doubt God’s love for him.

It wasn’t like she had ever prayed for the death of her son.

His skin prickled. God had forgiven him, but still…

Was this part of God’s punishment? If so, how much did he need to be punished before God deemed it enough?

That ‘practice making perfect’ thing his father had said made him wonder if God did the same.

Give and take away, then give and take away.

How many more miscarriages would they have to go through before God finally deemed Dan penitent enough?

He grimaced. These were stupid thoughts, and not what he believed. But still, the temptation to think like that grew. God might be good, but He’d let them down. Again. Again and again. And it was getting harder to believe that this was a promise that would ever come true.

Muskoka’s beauty filtered through the windows, a promise of peace that allured yet fell short.

Dan slumped on the lounge, bare feet propped on the coffee table, and glanced down to where Sarah slept, his lap as a pillow, blankets tucked up to her chin.

His lips lifted, fell. Today had been much like the others, quiet, just them, their phones switched off, few distractions, except for a couple of movies Sarah had watched, before falling asleep partway through each time.

He’d watched the three hours of Anne of Green Gables before, and should’ve realized the scene where Matthew died would hit hard.

Fortunately, she’d already been asleep when that scene played, and she hadn’t seen his tears.

He had to remain strong for her. Even if part of him itched to get out and do something.

Anything. Too much quiet left too much time for questions, questions he could barely formulate, let alone articulate aloud.

Questions—mostly to God—starting with Why .

He sat here next to Sarah to be with her in case she needed anything, but his mind was edgy, restless.

Anne and Gilbert didn’t do it for him. Five hours of Pride and Prejudice hadn’t done much to distract him, either. He wondered if Die Hard even could.

Sarah stirred, and he shifted, stroked her hair. “Hey, Sar Bear.”

She yawned, and rubbed her eyes. “Was I asleep again?”

“Yep.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I feel bad that you’re here missing games to keep me company while I sleep.”

“I don’t mind.” He much preferred this to fielding explanations from teammates.

“You’re a good husband.” She reached up and stroked his jaw.

“You’re a good wife.”

Her face crumpled. “I just wish—”

He bent and kissed away the protest he could feel forming on her lips. “I love you. I chose you, remember?”

She nodded, another tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

He wiped it away, as tenderness washed through him. He might wish to have a child, but he wouldn’t want any other woman as his wife. It had taken so long for him to find the perfect woman that any thought of another needed to be firmly batted away.

“What do you want to do for dinner?” she mumbled.

Food? “I’m not hungry.”

She shifted in his arms. “Are you for real?” She reached up and touched his jaw. “That’s got to be a first.”

He only gently squeezed her by way of reply. How could food help a broken heart? “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

That was a first. “What do you want to eat?” He’d get her anything. Especially if it could be gotten by phone. He had little energy to make something, especially when the cupboards were close to bare.

They hadn’t had time to contact anyone to fill the fridge, and while Ange had made a lasagna, he hadn’t yet replied to her message to let her know if there was anything else she could do.

He wasn’t up to a sermon from his pastor, or trying to keep it together while he dealt with their sympathy.

Him and Sarah was about all he could deal with.

“Pizza?”

“From Muskoka Shores?”

“That’s nearest, right?”

He phoned and placed their usual order, and they continued to watch the sunset meld through the trees.

Pink tinted the lake, bathing it in beauty.

Once upon a time they might’ve gone out on the back dock and lain on the boards to watch it; today he suspected she’d prefer to be cozy and safe from the elements.

Which was perfectly okay with him. He didn’t want to do anything that brought her a moment’s discomfort. She was in obvious pain still.

“It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” Sarah murmured, as if she could read his thoughts.

“Sure is.” He pressed a kiss to her head.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“As okay as you are,” he lied.

“Are you sure?” She inched around to look at him, then winced.

“Hey, don’t move. You need to take care of yourself, okay?”

“I am. But I also need to know that you’re doing okay. I love you, you know.”

“I know. And I love you too.”

“I know,” she whispered, wrapping his arm around her more tightly. “I just hate to think that you’re sad.”

He forced a smile. “So, you’re allowed to be sad and I’m not?”

“No, I don’t mean that. Just that…” She paused. Yawned. “Oh, I’m so tired I barely know what I mean.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. And we’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Lord, help me.