After losing my wife to cancer, I thought I’d lost any chance of having a family or happiness. Then I found a mysterious baby carriage on my doorstep, and what was inside led to the hardest choice of my life.
My name is Jasper and my wife, Emily, was unlike anyone else. She was that person everyone loved right away, you know? The type who’d remember your coffee order after meeting you once and would show up at your door with soup when you were sick.
A woman next to a coffee karafe | Source: Midjourney
We’d been together five years before tying the knot, but we wanted to wait until we were truly ready for the whole marriage and family thing.
After years, we’d finally gotten to that perfect spot in life. Good jobs, a house in the suburbs with a yard (Emily’s dream), and enough savings to start thinking about kids. We got straight to the task after our short honeymoon.
Emily had this whole timeline planned out.
Writing on an electronic planner | Source: Pexels
“Look, if we start trying in March, the baby will come in winter!” she said excitedly while showing me her calendar one night as we sat on our porch swing. It was raining, her favorite weather.
“Then we could do one of those cute Christmas card announcements,” she continued.
I laughed and pulled her closer. “You’ve really thought this through, huh?”
“Someone has to plan ahead in this relationship,” she teased, poking my chest. “Remember when you tried to surprise me with that weekend trip but forgot to pack anything?”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
I chuckled at the time. That was Emily. Always prepared, always thinking ahead. At one point, she’d turned our spare room into a home office but kept measuring it for a crib “just in case.”
She also had secret Pinterest boards full of nursery ideas that she thought I didn’t know about. Anyway, we were ecstatic about the future.
Then everything went sideways. What should have been a routine fertility appointment turned into a week of extra tests. I knew something was wrong when Dr. Grant’s office called to have us come in right away.
A man on the phone, worried | Source: Pexels
The waiting room was empty when we arrived, which should have been my first clue. But thankfully, Dr. Grant didn’t sugarcoat it. I hate being patronized or not being told the truth bluntly.
“The tests showed a seriously advanced cancer,” he said while folding his hands on his desk. “It’s aggressive, and it’s spread significantly. Stage 4.”
Emily’s hand found mine under the desk. Her fingers were ice-cold. “How long do we have?” she asked, and I knew her mind was already making plans.
Holding hands | Source: Pexels
“Without aggressive treatment, two months. Maybe three,” Dr. Grant said in a gentle voice, but he also sighed. “With treatment, we might buy some more time, just…”
Emily squeezed my hand so hard it hurt. “Okay,” she said, interrupting our doctor in that determined voice she used when facing tough projects at work. I knew she’d want to fight this. “We’d better get started.”
The next two months were hell, but Emily somehow kept smiling. She’d crack jokes during chemo, make friends with all the nurses, and help other patients pick out headscarves when their hair started falling out.
A sick woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
Even when I’d find her in the bathroom at 3 a.m., throwing up from the treatments, she’d try to have a good attitude. “Sorry I woke you,” she’d say, shushing me away. “Go back to bed, babe. You have work tomorrow.”
Like I could sleep anyway.
Unfortunately, positivity doesn’t work alone. The treatments did nothing for my wife’s illness. She got weaker and weaker, though I was just grateful that she never stopped being… Emily. She never let the cancer win.
A sick woman, looking thoughtful | Source: Midjourney
In hospice, she made plans for everyone else. She had her sister Kate bring her laptop so she could order my favorite coffee beans in bulk because she knew I’d “forget to buy them yourself.”
She also made me promise to keep having game nights with our friends and tried to set up the only unmarried nurse on the cancer ward with her brother, Tony.
One night, near the end, she made me climb into the tiny hospital bed with her. “Promise me something?”
“Anything,” I said, trying to be careful of all the tubes and wires.
A hand with an I.V. | Source: Pexels
“Promise you won’t shut yourself away when I’m gone. Promise you’ll still try to be happy.”
I couldn’t answer. How was I supposed to be happy without her? But I nodded and kept a poker face.
She died on a Tuesday morning. It was raining, which felt right somehow. The funeral was three days later.
I barely remember it. It was all just a blur of black clothes, sad faces, and people telling me how sorry they were. I couldn’t handle it after a while, so I left as soon as I could.
A man’s hand on a casket | Source: Pexels
But when I got to my front porch, I froze. There, out of nowhere, was a bright pink baby carriage. My first thought was that this had to be some horrible and cruel joke. Who does that to someone on the day of their wife’s funeral?
Still, I walked over with shaking hands and looked inside. My heart nearly stopped. There wasn’t a baby (thank god, because what would I have done then?), but there was a thick envelope tucked into a soft white blanket.
I recognized Emily’s handwriting instantly and almost fell to my knees, and I even went pale as I pictured her preparing this.
A woman writing on a notebook | Source: Pexels
“My dearest Jasper,
First of all, I’m sorry for being so dramatic with the whole baby carriage thing. I know you’re probably standing on the porch right now thinking, ‘What the hell, Emily?’ But I needed to make sure you’d pay attention.
When Dr. Grant told us about the cancer, I started making all the proper arrangements for the future, and I thought about this. Don’t freak out! I went to a fertility clinic and had some of my eggs frozen.
