She stopped moving completely and yelled at me, “I can’t be pregnant. I can’t get pregnant. I’m infertile, okay? I starved my ovaries. I damaged them permanently. I’m a fucking barren wasteland.”
My stomach sank, and for the first time since my mother died, I thought I might cry. I didn’t want this for her. I didn’t want this for us. I wanted everything with Maddie, including a family. In an instant, a dream I hadn’t fully realized was ripped away. I choked on it, just for a second. Maddie was watching me, evaluating my reaction. I wasn’t sure what to say. So, I didn’t say anything.
“You should go,” she said.
“What?” My tone was aggressive. I felt the heat of anger bubbling under my skin. She was being so irrational. I should go? What in God’s name was she talking about? This was a big deal. We needed to talk about it. I stood and moved to her but she stepped back.
“This isn’t what you want.” She turned, grabbed my gray t-shirt from its discarded place on the couch, and threw it at me.
I caught it. I lost control and yelled, “Maddie, stop.”
“It’s all over your face,” she yelled back. “I want you to go.” She was crying now.
“Please,” I tried to get close to her again.
This time, with intention, she cut in front of me, grabbed my boots, and headed to the door. Throwing it open, she threw my boots out onto the porch and then took my hat off the hook and threw it too before she screamed, “Get out.”
“Fine!” I spat and grabbed my keys from the bowl on the counter. As soon as I crossed the threshold, she slammed the door behind me.
Only then, standing in the sunlight with my shirt and keys in my hands did I really think about what was happening. Maddie couldn’t have my babies. Not being able to do that for me broke her and I let it.
I turned around and banged my fists against the door, “Maddie,” I hollered. “Maddie, please.” No matter how much noise I made, she didn’t answer. I pressed my forehead to the door and whispered, “I love you.”