After losing my wife to cancer, I believed that the vision Emily and I had woven together about our family had been wiped away. However, the appearance of an unexpected baby carriage on my doorstep altered everything, putting me squarely before one of the toughest choices of my life.

My name is Jasper, and Emily was not your ordinary soul. She possessed a warmth that made people feel welcome instantly. You’d meet her once, and she’d remember your coffee choice or unexpectedly show up with soup when you were bedridden.

We’d been together for about five years before we exchanged vows. We were in no rush as we wanted to ensure we were ready for marriage and everything that came with it.

Years into our relationship, we reached a blissful station in life where professional satisfaction coupled with the joy of having a suburban home with a garden fulfilled Emily’s dream. Finally, we had tucked away enough savings to start thinking about children.

Emily orchestrated our future with gusto.

She was excitedly pointing at the calendar one rainy evening, and said, “If we start trying in March, the baby will arrive during winter! The perfect timing for a Christmas card announcement,” her eyes sparkled.

I laughed heartily, pulling her closer on our porch swing. “You’ve mapped this out thoroughly, haven’t you?”

“Well, someone has to,” she teased. “Remember that time you almost whisked me away for a surprise weekend but forgot to pack our bags?”

All these plans were shattered when what began as a routine fertility appointment morphed into a bevy of endless tests. When Dr. Grant’s office called us back urgently, I sensed something was off.

Upon entering the empty waiting room, my heart jumped. Dr. Grant, in his earnest and upfront manner, laid it bare: “There’s a severely advanced type of cancer,” he stated calmly. “Stage 4.”

Emily’s fingers trembled under mine. Her determination shone through as she murmured, “What’s our timeline?”

“Around two to three months without aggressive measures,” Dr. Grant sighed. “More time if we push through treatment, although…”

Her squeeze on my hand was firm. “Let’s get to it.”

Despite her prognosis, Emily embraced everyone with a smile, winning hearts even as her body faltered. She was the kind who made chemo a little brighter, suggesting headscarves to fellow patients.

Even nightly episodes of nausea couldn’t diminish her spirit. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she would whisper. “Get some rest for tomorrow.” Sleep eluded me nonetheless.

Medicine bought no favors, yet Emily remained unstoppable. In hospice care, she still orchestrated life for others—ordering my favorite coffee beans and fixing people with tenacity.

She made me pledge, “Don’t shut yourself off when I’m gone, and find happiness again.” Speechless, I nodded, tears brimming.

Raincoats and muted umbrellas colored Emily’s farewell; I remember little of it. Anguish pressed down. Yet, my heart skipped when, upon returning, I found the glaring pink carriage, certain it was a cruel prank.

Curiosity unraveling with timidity, I peeked inside. No cries or coos, instead, an invitingly familiar envelope nestled amongst soft blankets.

Recognizing Emily’s penmanship, my knees weakened.

“My dearest Jasper,

I know this baby carriage is a bit over-the-top dramatic but imagine my laughter, love. When the cancer news hit, I arranged everything, including a visit to a fertility center.

My eggs are stored, and when you’re ready, Kate will walk you through everything—our future is still possible!

There’s a wonderful surrogate, Natasha, ready to assist. Know this isn’t a rush—it’s merely an option. I dreamt we’d have this choice, opening doors to our dreams. Remember, love, you should be happy again. Yet, be cautious with those cargo shorts of yours!

With love forever, Emily.”

Tears freely flowed and softened the pages in my never-ending grasp on the porch. That night, Kate brought pizza, beer, and the nitty-gritty of Emily’s bold endeavor.

Over dinner she confided, “Emily entrusted me to offer you this lifeline after ample time passed. She’s considerate, beyond measure.”

“Did she account for… everything?” I marvelled.

“Down to laundry reminders,” Kate chuckled.

Understanding the weight, I pondered this monumental decision—how do you choose what’s ‘right’?

It took almost two months until I definitively spoke to Natasha, an embodiment of kindness. The eventual spring morning revealed the fruits of our love—a daughter, Lily.

Tonight, these lines find me in the nursery. Lily sleeps peacefully, surrounded by foxes and deer, mirroring Emily’s gentle features. Tomorrow, we meet her mom in spirit at the cemetery.

Emily’s love lingers, a blessing cemented in Lily. Though it baffled at first, her plan now fills my heart in immeasurable ways.