When Michael returned home that evening, he found me sitting at the dining table.
Rebecca was beside me.
The papers were spread across the table.
He stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then his eyes fell on the report.
“Where did you get that?”
I looked directly at him.
“Your desk.”
He stepped toward the table.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Sarah, give me those papers.”
Rebecca stood.
“You’re not going to intimidate her.”
Michael looked at my sister with open hostility.
“This is between my wife and me.”
I rose slowly.
“Then answer my question.”
He turned toward me.
“What question?”
“Why did you have fertility testing six years ago and never tell me?”
He said nothing.
“Why did you let me spend eighteen years believing my body was the problem?”
His mouth opened, but no answer came.
I held up the handwritten note.
“Did you write this?”
