I shiver and pull the covers up over my body, as if that’ll hide me from him. As if that’ll protect me from him. “We don’t have anything. You had no right! This is my body. I get to decide what’s done to it. You aren’t my husband. I did not consent to you knowing anything about my health or—”
But the words are fluttering and dying on my lips. Premature baby birds that never had a chance of taking to the air. It’s loss in its purest form, desperate and ugly. That weird and intangible sense of failure.
This feeling and I are on very, very intimate terms.
The first time we met, I was sitting in a different room in a different hospital. Anthony got caught up with work at the office, so I was alone.
Building a business means making personal sacrifices. Anthony repeated that all the time. It
