This Is It by Eule GreyShe gets as far as the street adjacent to the IVF clinic before nausea hits, and, bloody hell, she feels bad enough to vomit into the following year.
Breathe, breathe.
One foot and then the next. She continues steadily, walking with a light step, avoiding any cracks in the pavement that could cause a stumble, holding herself together, being enough, and keeping her womb comfy.
Breathe, breathe.
Don’t stare at the children’s art and craft on display at number thirty-three. She can do it, she can do it. It’s so sweet, though; teddy bears with hats, kiddie windmills in the front garden, and glittery handprints glued to windows.
Should she knock on the door and tell them to use nail varnish remover to remove the glue, like when her nieces painted Mum’s mirror? Her si
