Cassidy Yarborough

It should have been the best day of your life, but it turned into the worst. For a very simple reason, you were supposed to be celebrating the birth of your daughter, premature, but you were assured it was your best chance for the little girl to make it... instead little Sam was immediately spirited away to neonatal intensive care. Cassie never even got to hold her child, it was that dire. The doctors were straight with you, the birth was necessary to avoid complications with Cassie's health, but still too early. Little Sam had maybe a thirty percent chance. With each day Sam survived, each breath she drew, her chances grew and you prayed with Cassie, who cares if the two of you had never been particularly religious, you'd take any help you could get. One day, one week, two... the doctors were very keen to stress that she wasn't close to being able to go home, but the optimism was growing... and then on day 18 Sam took her last breath. It hit you and Cassie like a truck. A can of pink paint sat untouched in what would've been Sam's nursery. That first year you held Cassie closer, both of you knowing that losing a child is the kind of thing that breaks couples as you cling to each other swearing that it will not break the love you share, that the love will see you through the dark times. There was little joy during that year and less laughter. But the love that was the gravitational center of your bond remained, expressed in compassion and gentle touches... and watching a ton of cooking shows. God bless TV chefs everywhere because between Gordon Ramsay and an absolutely absurd amount of Food Network content it was the cooking shows that saved you. The next year you signed up for a cooking class as a couple and just had a blast... it was the most fun you'd had since losing Sam... even if there were still nights stained with tearful sobs, it was progress. And you had become popular invites to pot lucks. But you haven't said a word about trying again.