Elleanor settled back into her chair to wait. Her body hummed with excitement. Molly had left the door to her office open behind her, as if she knew that Elleanor didn’t want her to leave entirely—to give her hope, and then to take it away, if only she was taking that hope to another room.
Through the opened door, Elleanor could hear the burble and chirp of the copier, or fax, or whatever machine was ‘processing’ her hope, the end of her eight-month request for Nicholas—for a son. Elleanor closed her eyes. She took a deep breathe and held it. She counted: One… Two… then exhaled slowly.