“They can?”
Her voice softens. “You sound like you’re having second thoughts. If you’re not sure you’re ready for this, wait.”
I shove thoughts of Damien and Julian out of my mind. I want a baby. “I’m ready.”
Tuesday evening,with fresh tears pouring down my cheeks, I send Julian and Damien a text breaking things off. I don’t want to talk about it, I write. Please don’t try to contact me. I’ve made up my mind.
Then, for good measure, I block their phone numbers.
Wednesday afternoon, Dr. Hernandez injects a vial of sperm from Donor 155 into my cervix. I stay immobile for fifteen minutes after the procedure, and then I walk out of there.
I tell myself it’s better this way. Safer. I tell myself I’m doing what I need to do to protect myself.
But my heart feels like it’s been scoured with bleach. It’s raw and bruised and bleeding.