The operation lasted hours. When the surgeon finally came to speak with us, Daniel stood so quickly that his chair scraped across the floor. The mass had been removed, and it weighed twenty-six pounds. It was a benign ovarian tumor, the surgeon explained, not the cancer we had feared. I cried with relief, while Daniel bent over and pressed his forehead against my hand.

For months I had mistaken warning signs for ordinary aging. The doctors told me how easily such symptoms could be overlooked, especially in women who assumed discomfort was simply part of getting older. Robert’s old research files had helped the team understand my history, but the discovery had also exposed how much he had carried alone. I had never felt so frightened by my own body.