“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
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The anger. You feel. Toward her.
