These are things people figure out before they marry someone, and here we are, already invested and now I’m thinking about the fact I should have told him this already.

Babies! Not a fucking chance in hell.

He won’t know, unless he did read all my journals, but even then. I wouldn’t say it was obvious from those diary excerpts that my inability to have kids was permanent or even a blessing. I went over the abortion and such and the after-effects and recovery, but I don’t think I ever spelt it out, in black and white, that my body no longer produces eggs for any chance of fertilisation.

How...