I opened my eyes to a dark room, my towel still wrapped under my armpits, my pillow damp from my hair. I sat up slowly, trying to orient myself.
“Olivia.” David’s figure sharpened in the dark. He leaned forward and turned on the bedside lamp.
“What time is it?” I mumbled.
“Three in the morning.”
“Have you slept?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
“No. I’ve been downstairs.” With a bath towel in his hands, he climbed into bed behind me. He straddled me and ran the towel through my hair, scrubbing lightly. “What have I told you about going to bed with wet hair?” he said in quiet admonishment.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said with a quivering chin.
He continued to pat my hair, and when it was as dry as possible, he threw the towel and my pillow on the floor. “Turn around. We’re going to talk about this,” he said. “No more hiding.”
I did as he said, my shoulders slumped forward. “Do you want children?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I always imagined I’d have them, yes. I never really questioned it. I assumed it was what you wanted, and so . . . I just figured it would happen.”
Each of his words stung like little knives in my heart, not because of what he said, but because of the picture he painted that would never be. I gave him a shallow nod. “I understand. I should have told you.”
“I should’ve asked.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered, looking down. “It’s no one’s fault.” After a brief pause, I said, “I understand if you need space right now.”
He sat cross-legged and quiet in his plaid pajama pants. “What do you mean?”
“You need time to process this—away from me, from us, because this,” I gestured between us, “clouds your judgment, just like it did mine.”
He lifted his chin and said evenly, “Don’t tell me what I need.”
“But you should take it.”
“I don’t need time. I don’t want to lose you, so we’ll find an answer.”
“There’s no answer, David,” I said. My urge to wallow had passed, and now, it was time to put the entire truth out there. “I could never take fatherhood from you. I won’t do it.”
“I can make my own decisions.”
“I know you can.”
“Every time we get close, you run. Now you’re trying to get me to run. I can’t help but feel like you’re sabotaging what we have.” He shook his head and looked away. “It sounds like you want me to leave you.”
“Of course I don’t want that,” I cried immediately. “But the only thing worse than you leaving would be you resenting me years down the line because I took this away from you.”
His jaw set, and he turned back to me. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and I have some questions.”
I dipped my head into a nod. “Ask me anything.”
“Why don’t you want children?”
Well, that wasn’t just any question. It wasthequestion. And there was no clear answer. “I’ve tried to rationalize it. I can’t,” I said. “It all comes down to my gut. My instinct says motherhood is not the path for me.” I rewrapped my towel around myself and tilted my head. “I don’t see it in my future, David. And if I can’t see it with you, then I never will.”
“Can you see me in your future?”
“You’re all I see,” I said quietly. “That’s why this has been so confusing.”
His expression remained hard, as if he were trying to push through this instead of—what? Did he want to walk out? Cry? Beg me? Shake me?
