“I don’t know how to do this alone,” I said.
“You don’t have to figure out the next eighteen years today. You only have to come to my house for dinner.”
That evening I ate soup at her kitchen table. For the first time since Michael walked out, someone asked what I wanted instead of telling me what I deserved.
CHAPTER 2: THE DATE ON THE CALENDAR
Leah’s husband, a family physician, was careful not to advise me as a patient. But when I asked a general question about vasectomies, he repeated what Michael’s urologist had said before the procedure: sperm can remain in the reproductive tract for weeks or months, and follow-up testing matters. A vasectomy is not considered reliably effective merely because the operation is over.
I found the appointment card Michael had tossed into our kitchen junk drawer. His procedure had been on January 11. My estimated conception date was in early February, based on the ultrasound and my menstrual history. There was nothing impossible about that sequence. We had been intimate after the procedure because Michael insisted it was safe. I remembered asking about testing. He had waved me off.
