“Why are you working so much?” I stare down at my hands, my stomach twisting as I think about when things began to change. Because it’s so horribly unfair. Because I want a baby, too. I want a little person to love and do right by. Even if they’re only half as cute as Freya’s baby pictures—squishy cheeks and wide pale eyes with a shock of white-blonde chickadee hair—I know I’m going to be ruined for them. Just ruined. But that’s when it all went downhill. That’s when it tripped something inside me that I haven’t been able to get under control. That’s when work became something I couldn’t stop
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