Of course Isabel wants kids. Two. It’s not a surprise, but it still feels like one. Another nail in the coffin of whatever it is we’re doing. She’ll be a fantastic mother one day. It’s easy to picture it, and the image sets off an ache in my chest. That’s still years away, she’d said. When she’s settled and ready. And it’s unlikely I can give her any of that. I barely have enough time as it is, and the thought gives rise to fresh guilt inside me about the possibility of more between us. Of making her mine in every way that counts. Of being someone’s husband again. Of having someone to lose
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