Ian drove for three miles before he answered.
"Okay," he said.
"That's it?"
"That's it. It's your body."
"He's going to say I'm punishing a child."
"He's going to say whatever makes you look like the monster." Ian checked the mirror. "What matters is what's true. Do you want to be a mother right now?"
I stared out the window at the cypress trees going by.
"Six weeks ago, yes," I said. "Every day. I looked at the app. I read about the eyelashes and the taste buds. I had a name."
"Six weeks ago you thought you were married."
"I am married. That's the problem. I'm married to a man who used me as equipment, and if I have this baby, his family is going to spend the next eighteen years in court trying to get their hands on its blood. The child isn't the enemy. Grant isn't even the enemy
