Chapter 93 (1/2)

“No, no. You didn’t do anything. It’s something inside of me that isn’t right.” Her lips tremble.

“Oh.” I wish I could say something else, something better, anything, really.

“Yeah.” She rubs her hand over the bottom of her stomach, and I can feel the air disappearing from the small space of my car.

As fucked-up as it is, as fucked-up as I am, my chest feels like it’s caving in, and little brown-haired girls with blue-gray eyes, little blond boys with green eyes, little bonnet things and tiny socks with little animals—all kinds of shit that used to make me want to vomit repeatedly—swirl through my mind, and I feel dizzy as they are torn away, tossed into the air, and carried off to wherever ruined futures go to die.

“It’s possible, I mean, there’s a very slim chance. And there would be a high risk for miscarriage, and my hormone levels are all messed up, so I don’t think I could ever torture myself by trying. I wouldn’t be able to handle losing a baby, or trying for years with no result. It’s just not in the cards for me to be a mother, I guess.” She’s spitting this shit out, trying to make me feel better, but it’s not convincing me, not making her seem like she has it under control when it’s obvious that she doesn’t.

She’s looking at me, expecting me to say something, but I can’t. I don’t know what to say to her, and I can’t help the anger I feel toward her. It’s fucking stupid and selfish and absolutely fucking wrong, but it’s there, and I’m terrified that if I open my mouth, I will say something I shouldn’t.

If I weren’t such an asshole, I would comfort her. I would hold her and tell her it will be okay, that we don’t need to have kids, we can adopt or something, anything.

But this is how reality works: men aren’t literary heroes, they don’t change overnight, and no one does anything right here in the real world. I’m no Darcy and she’s no Elizabeth.

She’s on the verge of tears when she squeaks out, “Say something?”

“I don’t know what to say.” My voice is barely audible, and my throat is closing. I feel like I’ve swallowed a handful of bees.

“You didn’t want kids anyway, right? I didn’t think it would make such a difference . . .” If I look over, I will find her crying.

“I didn’t think so, but now that it’s been taken away—”

“Oh.”

I’m thankful for that, because who knows what the fuck would have come out next.

“You can just take me back to the . . .”

I nod and put the car into drive. It’s fucked-up how something you never wanted can hurt this way.