Chapter 9: The Folder

I carried the envelope to the kitchen table and sat in the chair Sheridan had warmed.

The tape was brittle, and it came away in one long strip.

Inside were six sheets of paper.

I laid them out in a row, and I read the first one standing up.

It was a lab report dated four years and one month ago.

At the top was Dylan's name.

Under it was a column of numbers I did not understand, and next to the numbers, in bold, were the words severely reduced.

I read the line beneath.

It said that the count was far below the normal range, and that natural conception was unlikely, though not impossible.

I read the second report, from three months later.

It said the same thing with different numbers.

The third was a letter from the doctor.

It was addressed to Dylan only, and it asked him to schedule a visit to discuss treatment options for the male factor.

It asked a second time, and then a third.

Each letter was shorter than the last.

I sat with those three letters in my hands.

For four years I had apologized to my husband.

I said it in the car after every procedure, and I said it at the table after every call.

I am so sorry, I would say, and he would hold me and tell me it wasn't my fault, and that he would never leave.

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