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“I have.”
“Ignoring me won’t resolve this,” I say, gesturing my right hand between us.
“I’m ignoring you because it’s what’s best for you.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“I fucked up. I know that. But right now isn’t the time for you to teach me a lesson. What I need is for you to listen.”
“And why should I give you anything that you need?” He leans back in his chair, intertwining his fingers and resting them on his head, elbows out to each side. His stare is penetrating, unrest and turmoil emanating from him.
“You wanted an explanation. I’m trying to give it to you, so let me. You deserve to know why I made the decision I did. When I’m done, I’ll walk out that door, and you’ll never have to see me again.” Saying those words makes my stomach curdle.
“I’m listening.”
“We always talked about kids. But after you proposed, it was nearly every day. You would often talk about what our family would look like, where we would live, things we would do. You even picked out names.”
“Luca, if we had a boy, Giulia, if we had a girl,” he says.
“Yeah, I remember. But that’s my point. You were obsessed with talking about it. Your eyes would light up whenever you did. Your excitement over it was always at the forefront of every conversation.” I take the few steps across the office and slide into the seat across from him, dropping my pockabook onto the chair to my right.
“A few weeks before I left, I got my period. It was super heavy. My cycle was always irregular because of my PCOS, but never heavy like that.”
“Because of your what?”
“Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. Instead of ovulating regularly, the eggs stay in the ovaries and form cysts. They’re not harmful, and it doesn’t hurt until they burst—then they hurt like a motherfucker. Anyway, it causes severe hormonal imbalances, irregular periods, sometimes causes acne, and causes these annoying wire hairs to grow.” I point to my chin line with my right index finger. “When my doctor diagnosed me with it, she told me it would be difficult to get pregnant.”
He takes a deep breath and places his hands on the desk, fingers spread wide. “I never knew any of that,” Massimo mutters, shaking his head.
“I bled for over a week, and the pain and cramping were more intense than it had ever been in the past.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t know that either.”
“I didn’t tell you about any of it because I didn’t want you to worry about me.”
“How cavalier of you.”
I take a deep breath, knowing that I have to be patient with him because he’s angry with me, and I probably deserve all the sarcasm he dishes out, but it doesn’t make it less frustrating. The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“Anyhow, I went to the doctor because that much blood wasn’t normal. She sent me for an MRI, and when that came back normal, she sent me for a laparoscopy.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where the doctor looks inside to see what’s going on. It’s done with a thin tube with a camera on the end of it. Remember when I stayed with my mother for a few days because I needed to take care of her after a procedure? Well, I was the one who had the procedure, and I stayed with her to recoup for a few days.”
“Wow, so you got good with the lies!” He slams his hands on the desk, and I flinch.
“You know, I’m trying here. Can you cut me some slack and let me finish?”
His tone and demeanor are pissing me off, but I need to keep my cool.
“By all means.” He gestures his hand out.
“The results showed I had stage 4 endometriosis. That’s when the tissue that normally grows and lines the inside of the uterus grows outside of the uterus. Stage 4 is the worst, which is why I was bleeding so much. It also explains why I always had intense pain every month during my periods.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Here I thought we shared everything.” The sarcasm drained from his voice is now replaced with a softer, concerned tone. His eyes soften and squint. Hurt is written all over Massimo’s face, his head shaking.
“I’m getting there. When the doctor diagnosed me with the endometriosis, she told me I had to have a hysterectomy and I would never carry a child. I felt numb,” I say, shifting in my seat. Massimo’s eyes widen and become damp, and his mouth goes slack.
Talking about all of this is more challenging than I’d imagined. I thought I had come to terms with everything, but maybe I didn’t because it was buried so deep, hidden away from everyone—including me.
