Turner, 63 years old, who came to the field by chance after working in a university lab inseminating animals, told me he’d participated in Nik’s case because, as a dad himself, he’d felt sympathy for Missy. I asked him about the chances of a successful conception. He reiterated all that had conspired against Nik’s sperm. "The chances are low," he said, "but not zero." He put them at about 30 percent.

Before flying home, I met Missy for lunch near her office. When I told her what Turner had said, she hesitated for less than a second. Then she smiled broadly. "I’ll take those odds," she said. "All it takes is one."

I asked her where she was in the in vitro fertilization process. Almost two years after Nik’s death, Missy said she’d exhausted all the traditional options. Every egg and surrogacy agency she’d contacted either refused to work with her because of the controversial nature of her case, or raised their prices so high that she couldn’t afford an attempt. A single egg harvesting, she said, ranged from $15,000 to $30,000, while compensation for a surrogate—including all her medical bills through labor and delivery—was $100,000 and up. There would likely be repeated attempts.

Missy told me she’d gotten pregnant by Jeff twice since Nik died, the last time with twins she miscarried at three months. Part of the reason was straightforward: They wanted a child. Another part, she said, was to see if she could bypass the surrogacy issue and carry the embryo herself. Missy took a sip of her iced tea. She began to cry. She said she was shocked that any one person was capable of crying this much, for this long. She lifted her large glasses and smeared away some tears. She said she has to do this.

She said: "I love him."

Throughout the winter, Russ continued reaching out to Missy. And over time their friendship grew. Russ was desperate to know more about Nik; there was no subject Missy enjoyed more. Russ told Missy about his sudden newfound love for running; Nik, Missy told him, had been an avid cross-country runner.

In one conversation, Russ relayed an experience he’d had a few months earlier, when he and his wife and 13-year-old grandson were in Australia, fulfilling a promise Russ had made that they’d all go there should he live long enough to receive a heart. In Sydney, the three of them climbed to the top of the famous Harbour Bridge. All the way up, Russ whispered, "Come on, Nik, we can do this." It was a cool day, and atop the bridge it was windy and cold, and as the three of them were standing there, the water and the shell-shaped opera house and the city unfurling below them, Russ suddenly felt the strangest sensation on the back of his neck: he could describe it only as a warm breath blowing onto him. All over his body, goose bumps rose. "And I’m sure it was Nikki," Russ told Missy, the two of them crying into their phones. "I’m sure it was Nikki’s breath."

And so one day, in the middle of one of their phone calls, Russ said: "Missy, I want to help you get your grandchild."

Of course, at first Missy laughed. She said the idea was absurd, that she could never take his money. Russ was persistent. He told Missy he was as committed to Nikolas having a child as she was, that they were all family now and that the child would represent a part of him as well. "I don’t have that much money, but I’ve got more than enough," he told her. "If I can drop $15,000 on a trip to Australia, I can certainly do this." Missy was appropriately reluctant. They talked more. And over time the two of them agreed that within the notion was symmetry; perhaps, Missy thought, this is how the story ends.