Carl woke up with his wife curled tightly in his arms. He lay still, holding her, just watching as she slept. To anyone else's eyes she probably looked like she was sleeping peacefully, happily. To his loving eyes, though, there were tell-tale signs that even in sleep she could not escape her sorrow. Her eyes were crusted with tears cried as she slept, her forehead furrowed just slightly as if in pain, and her hands held his shirt a little too tightly.

With a worried look, Carl gently extracted himself from his wife's grip. She stirred a tiny bit, but did not awaken. With one more concerned glance, he slipped from the room and made his way down to the kitchen.

Carl wished that he could change things and give Ellie what she so desperately wanted, but they had run out of options. There was nothing that he could do to change that. All that was left was to grieve with her for what would never be and to console her as much as possible.

Breakfast in bed would be a good (if small) step in the right direction. Carl started mixing up some eggs and cream for fluffy scrambled eggs. As he cooked, he thought about what else he might be able to do. Nothing seemed right, though. He realized that all he wanted to do was to curl up with her and grieve as well. If she wanted something, she would tell him, and in the meantime, maybe what they needed was simply to be together.

When the eggs were ready, he scooped them onto plates and carried them upstairs. Maybe surprising her with breakfast in bed could at least coax a small smile from her. He sorely needed to see her smile right now. A smile didn't mean that everything was ok, but it meant that there was hope that one day it would be again. He knew a smile would be good for her as well.