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He could still remember her face when he’d said it. It was imprinted on him, a brand that would never fully heal. And the shame that would always go along with that almost swept him off his feet again here.

But Ruthie was sitting right in front of him, and she was still looking at him calmly. And if there was any hurt in her, he couldn’t see it.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“You wanted a baby,” he told her, his throat dry. “And we talked about having our own family too many times to count. It was one of the first things we talked about, in fact.”

What he’d said, on that first night together because nothing between them had ever been casual, was that he wanted to put a baby in her. And she had looked right back at him in that bar and said, Earn it.

She was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He couldn’t believe that he got to touch her. That she wanted him the way he wanted her.

And then, five years later, he’d ruined it.

“You told me you wanted to start trying,” he said now, forcing the words out. “And it was reasonable for you to say that. We’d agreed that was what we were going to do once I was out. But you said it that last night, and I lost it. I told you that I never wanted children. That I didn’t want them with you, specifically. That I would never want to be a father, that I would never be able to see you as a mother. I said all of that to you, loudly, and a lot less nicely.”

His heart was pounding, but he’d said it. Now there was nothing to do but wait for the verdict.

Last time, he’d watched her crumple in on herself and sob. He would never forget it.

But tonight Ruthie gazed back at him, and he didn’t see her face fall, the way it had that night. He didn’t see even a hint of that stunned, betrayed hurt in her eyes.

She hummed a little, as if she was considering it. His words, he thought. Or what she planned to say about his words.

“From what you’ve told me, I was orphaned young, raised by my grandmother, and have a whole host of extended relatives who never exactly covered themselves in glory. Is that right?” He nodded, jerkily. Ruthie made a face. “Did you ask me why it was I was so insistent upon having a family when it was clear I didn’t really know what one was?”

Dallas felt himself scowling at her. Again. “No. It did not occur to me to ask you that. Because that’s… You weren’t the problem.”

“Okay,” she said, but she said it like she was placating him. Not like she thought what he said was okay. Or valid. “Because from where I’m sitting now, not remembering these dynamics or our history, it sounds to me like I thought an innocent baby was going to fix things between us. When, surely, I must have known that wasn’t true. Right? Did I think that was true?”

“I don’t think you wanted to fix anything,” he said, gritting the words out. “I think you just wanted a baby. With your husband, who’d agreed to have those babies with you.”

“Okay.” Dallas decided he hated that word. “But, again, I’m not really…”

He wanted to jump in, but he’d already said enough, surely. He waited.

Ruthie shook her head. “It’s just that that’s a really unreasonable thing to ask, I think,” she said softly. “People should have babies because they want to have babies. It should be another joyful thing, shouldn’t it? At the very least, it shouldn’t be a Band-Aid.”

“It wasn’t a Band-Aid.” He was getting a little too intense. He could hear it—and he tried to pull that back in. “You thought that our relationship should go to the next level and I’d given you every reason to think that that was what I wanted. I’d said that was what I wanted, and more than once. And then, when we’d been together all that time, instead of telling you that I was struggling I just ripped that rug out from underneath you. And told you that you were the problem.”

“Did you though?”

Dallas glared at her, and she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she shrugged because she didn’t care. How could she, when she couldn’t remember?

“I don’t know that I like the sound of myself,” Ruthie told him. She made a face. “Just… sitting in a marriage where you were clearly drowning and there I am, wittering on about babies instead of trying to get you some help. Is that what I was doing?”

“No.” His voice was harsh, like the crack of a whip. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. How many times do I have to say that?”

“I’m actually worried about how many times you’re saying that,” Ruthie shot right back, though there was nothing harsh in her tone. “Because what you’re describing to me sounds like a wife who really wasn’t paying attention to her own marriage.”

“You’re only saying that because you can’t remember it.”

“I can’t remember being married to you,” she agreed. “But I’m alive in the world, Dallas. And I don’t think it takes a degree in psychology to understand that a person who’s known only one thing for his whole life would have a reaction to not having that thing anymore. Even if he wanted to not have that thing anymore. That just sounds like human nature. How did I not understand that was what was going on?”

“You understood perfectly. You were absolutely, perfectly kind, and—”

“Come on now.” And he couldn’t understand the way her eyes were glittering, then. “I wasn’t perfect. Do you want to know how I know that? Because I’m not perfect now. Because no one’s perfect.”

“You can’t remember what happened,” he belted out. “So how are you arguing about it?”