The day after

When I wake up, he’s not next to me. I don’t know if he’s already gotten out of bed, or whether he never came to bed. I look like a frog, with my swollen eyes. I’m not angry any more, just very, very sad. What a horrific night. Luckily our Swedish friends have left early to go cycling, because I don’t think I could face them right now.

I go downstairs and the atmosphere is dreadful. He’s sitting at the table. I go and sit opposite him. He doesn’t even look at me. I say nothing. He says nothing. And then he looks at me. He doesn’t have swollen frog eyes, but it’s not necessary. He just looks so sad.

We look at each other. The silence is deafening. I don’t know what to say. Sorry?

Sorry that we’re doing something we didn’t want to do? Sorry that we’re falling into exactly the traps we were so determined to avoid? Sorry that I want a baby so badly? Sorry we fought, when we promised we wouldn’t? Sorry we didn’t sleep together?


And you know what the worst of it is? Even at this moment right here, I’m silently wondering if it’s not too late. Whether maybe, if we have sex NOW, we’d still be able to catch that egg. How dreadful is that?!

Then Denny says, “Sorry.” And so do I.

“We can never do this again!” “No, never again…” “But sweetie, we really only have one chance per month. It won’t always be convenient, but we have to do our best if we want to avoid going the medical route…” He nods slowly. “Do you think it’s maybe not too late?” he says. “Now?”

It makes me cry, again, because he couldn’t have said anything more perfect at that moment. We can always try… right…?