A wave of nausea bubbles up in Cora’s stomach, a new sensation she still hasn’t grown used to. Her doctors assure her that this is normal, so Cora promises herself she won’t overthink the changes overtaking her body. Yet she can’t help but grip at her flat belly with each twitch.

Her task today is simple – buy a children’s book. A book her own mother read to her throughout her childhood. A story about a mouse finding the true meaning of happiness. A story Cora implemented into her psyche from a young age. A story, that she believes, taught her life’s greatest lesson. She wants to give her own baby a future just as bright.

The bookstore is bustling for a weekday. Mothers push strollers around, coffee drinks seated in the designated cup holders, while their children attempt to grab at anything within their reach, screaming when the mother takes it away. It’s a reality Cora cannot wait for.

A middle-aged woman near the register catches Cora’s attention. The woman is busy talking to an employee, who points her into the same vague direction that Cora is headed toward. It makes no sense, but Cora finds herself increasing her speed every so slightly. She reaches the back wall, relieved to see she’s the only one here.

She scans all of the spines of the books, relieved when she finds the mouse book on the top shelf. It’s out of her reach, so she looks around to find a step stool. A crashing sound behind her startles her and she turns to see the woman from earlier with her arm outstretched, the mouse book on the ground, its covers splayed out like a bird.

The woman sheepishly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry,” she says. “It slipped at the last second.”

Cora bends to grab the book, a familiar warmth spreading through her as she stares at the familiar little mouse. “I was actually just looking for a stepstool, so you’ve saved me a trip.” Cora is too focused on the colorful pages of the book to realize the woman has not moved.

The woman is staring from her spot at the pages, a painful look etched on her face. Cora takes a step closer to her, wondering if she’ll take a step towards her. If this were a romance novel, this would be the scene that the two characters’ lives are forever changed by the other.

But this is not a romance novel. These are two women sharing the same admiration for a child’s book.

“I love his overalls,” the woman says, gesturing to the page. Cora nods in response, flipping to the next page. “This was my favorite page growing up.” The page shows the mouse is nestled warm in his bed, under the glow of a full moon.

“That’s Charlie’s favorite page too.” The woman pauses, the words suddenly lodged in her throat. In the silence, Cora realizes why the woman hasn’t moved.

“Charlie?” She asks. She looks for a boy, with sandy blond hair that matches this woman’s. There is no boy. It’s just the two of them.

“My son. He loved this story.” It doesn’t slip past Cora that this woman’s sentence is spoken in past tense. Familiar with loss herself, Cora asks the most basic question there is: “how did he die?”

A pause. “Cancer.” Another pause. “He would’ve been six this year.” Her words begin to tumble out now. “I used to bring him here once a week. It was our special time together.” Her arms are outstretched and instinctively Cora passes her the book. Her fingers are worn and delicate. Much like the rest of her. “This was the last book we ever read together. I’ve been wanting to find this book so that I can read it to him again.”

Realizing that Cora was holding the book first, the woman hands it back to her, scanning for an identical copy for herself.

Cora gestures behind them. “The guy at the desk said this was the last copy.” Silence follows. Feeling the need to defend her desire to be the one to purchase this book, Cora blurts out the first thought that comes to mind.

“I’m pregnant.” Her arms instinctively wrap around her stomach, and the woman looks at her.

Pain recedes from the woman’s face for a moment, replaced by genuine happiness. “Congratulations. Is this your first?”

Cora nods.

The woman makes a joke about reading to a baby while pregnant will increase their likelihood of becoming a bookworm. The joke isn’t malicious in itself, but quite sweet. Yet Cora feels nauseated.

Silence passes between them and they each stare absentmindedly into the crowds of people browsing the shelves. Cora’s desire to purchase the book is slipping rapidly. She doesn’t fight it.

While Cora has a whole new world blossoming inside her, standing before her is a woman who has experienced all she will ever have with her child. Cora has spent weeks fantasizing about all of the new experiences awaiting her. Night after night, playing through various scenarios of what her life will be like in a year. And yet, she’s never fantasized about the pain of losing her precious baby.

She doesn’t want to imagine it. Not now, not ever.

Pushing the book back into the woman’s arms, Cora grabs a random book off the shelf. It has a frog on the cover and Cora pretends to smile even more broadly at this book’s cover.

“I’m going to buy this one.” She laughs, flipping through its pages. “I like it more than the mouse.”

It’s a lie. Both women know it is. But it’s safer than the alternative. This woman that Cora has never met before has already had the unfathomable happen to her. “You should buy it,” she says. “For Charlie.”

When both women reach the register, the same employee scans the books. He does so without any enthusiasm, quickly returning his attention to his phone as they make their way to the exit. He pays no attention to either woman.

Cora is about to push through the front door when the woman stops her.

“What’s your name?”

“Cora.”

The woman puts a hand on her chest. “I’m Beth.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” they say almost in sync with each other.

Both women smile at each other, before returning to silence. Cora isn’t sure if she just should leave, or if Beth has anything more to say.

Minutes pass.

Beth steps beside Cora, grabbing her hand. She gives it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Cora. From both me and Charlie.” She releases her hand, pushes through the front doors and dissolves into the abyss of strangers in the distance.