CHAPTER 8: THE PHOTO ALBUM
I spent Sunday sorting photographs into two boxes: memories I wanted to keep and things I could not yet bear to examine. Our wedding pictures showed Michael laughing as he carried me across a threshold. I had been twenty-eight, certain that being chosen meant being safe.
At the bottom of a drawer I found a brochure from the urology clinic. Michael had circled the follow-up instructions in blue ink. A post-procedure semen analysis was listed as essential. Beside it he had written a date in March.
March. My pregnancy had already begun by then.
I photographed the brochure and sent it to Camille. It was not a medical result, but it contradicted Michael’s claim that he had been told he was immediately sterile. He had known testing was required.
When I told Leah, she asked whether I wanted to call him and demand an apology. I said no. I had spent eight years trying to make Michael admit when he hurt me. My future could not depend on one more confession.
