Ben didn’t look away. I’ll give him that. He kept looking at me, even though I could see it was killing him.
“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.
