He can't not reach for her. He can't.

"Oh, my Katya."

His hand slides through her, and then abruptly it doesn't, and her shoulders are warm and shaking and painfully tense beneath his arm.

"I am so sorry." His head is bowed over her hair, not quite touching. "I did not mean -- we both let ourselves hope," and now his voice is thicker with pain. "I wanted our baby. You and me. I want him still."

"I love you, Katya. No matter what. I grieve too, and I love you."

And they're helpless, and they'll never get what they want in this, and nothing changes it.