Chapter 172

People figure out these things before they marry someone, and here we are, already invested, and now I’m thinking about the fact I should have told him this already.

Babies! Not a fucking chance in hell.

He won’t know unless he read all my journals, but even then. I wouldn’t say it was apparent from those diary excerpts that my inability to have kids was permanent or even a blessing. I went over the abortion and such and the after-effects and recovery, but I don’t think I ever spelt it out, in black and white, that my body no longer produces eggs for any chance of fertilisation.

How do you tell the man cradling a newborn like he was born to do so if that’s where his hopes lie, then it won’t happen with me?

How do I tell him I can’t give him this and wouldn’t want to even if I could?

Is this what he wants?

The happy 2.4 children, family home and Carrero-expected happily ever after?

Jesus Christ. Fuck, fuckity, fuck.

I never thought some