And then I feel the salt in my wound—a deepening twinge of cramps that have wracked my stomach all day, the first signs of what I knew was coming but have been dreading all the same: another cycle and no baby. Another twenty-eight days gone with a husband who’s barely acknowledged it the past six months since we decided that I’d stop taking the pill. No caring inquiries about how I’ve felt or if I’m late or what I need. Just another month with a husband who’s home from work later and later, who’s always on the phone and pauses his calls when I walk into the room. A husband I barely recognize.
