Jessica spent a long time in the bathroom, trying out all the jars on the shelf for something that would wash away Daya’s smell. The bottles contained powder, or tonic, or little nodules and with every container she opened, her hands trembled more. She didn’t know what she was doing. There was no way that she would just go back home and everything would be fine. Her former life no longer had a purpose. She’d live in constant fear that Daya would reveal the truth.
And then Daya’s assumptions . . . if he truly knew so much about her, he should also know about that visit to a specialist with her mother, a thin man with glasses who had, while looking only at his papers, assured her that her blood lacked female hormones.
I couldn’t give him any children, even if I wanted to.
Did she want to?
