Bruce stood slowly. “I’m sorry.”
I did not answer.
When the clinic opened, I asked for complete copies of both our records.
I did not sleep that night. I sat on the couch replaying every clinic visit I could remember, trying to understand how much of our marriage had been built around things never fully said. By morning, I had stopped crying and started making calls.
When the clinic opened, I asked for complete copies of both our records.
Bruce heard me from the kitchen. He looked exhausted, like he had not slept either.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “Because we’re done building this marriage on guesses.”
At the office, a doctor we had never seen before reviewed the file with us.
The drive to the clinic was painfully quiet. Bruce kept both hands on the wheel. I looked out the window because looking at him felt too hard.
