“I took Clomid for eight months,” I said. “It made me sick. It made me cry for no reason. I gained twelve pounds and I hated my body. I had a dye pushed through my tubes, and I lay on that table and I thought it was a punishment. I thought God was punishing me for something. I stood in front of the mirror and asked myself what was wrong with me.”
“I remember,” he whispered.
“And I apologized to you.” My voice cracked wide open. “I apologized to you, Ben. I held you in that bathroom and said I was sorry I couldn’t give you a baby. And you let me. You let me say it. And you said nothing.”
He bent forward in the armchair like I’d hit him“Every time you said it,” he said into his hands, “I wanted to die.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
