“I want to wake up next to you every morning, not just because of some contract or safety concern, but because that’s where I belong. I want to fight with you about stupid things like whose turn it is to change diapers or wash the dirty dishes. I want to watch you teach our kid how to play chess. I want Sunday dinners with your grandmother and late nights in your office and early mornings where you make me coffee exactly how I like it even though you pretend not to pay attention to things like that.”
I’m crying now, can’t help it, hormones and exhaustion and fear all mixing together into this awful, wonderful confession.
“I want to be more than just the woman carrying your baby. I want to be more than a business arrangement or a convenient solution to your legacy problem. I want…”
I ope
