“Because I wouldn’t help you feel better?”
“Yes.”
I stood up.
“Do you understand what you did to me?”
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
He began to cry.
For years, his tears had made me abandon my own pain. I would rush to comfort him, apologize for upsetting him, and promise that tomorrow would be better.
This time, I remained standing.
“You told me my body was the problem,” I said. “You watched me avoid my family because I was ashamed. You watched me cry over every pregnancy announcement. You made me believe I was the reason we didn’t have children.”
“I know.”
“No, Michael. You know what the report says. I don’t think you understand what those eighteen years cost me.”
He reached for my hand.
I stepped back.
He lowered it.
Then he said something I had not expected.
