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“They can?”

Her voice softens. “You sound like you’re having second thoughts. If you’re not sure you’re ready for this, wait.”

I shove thoughts of Damien and Julian out of my mind. I want a baby. “I’m ready.”

Tuesday evening,with fresh tears pouring down my cheeks, I send Julian and Damien a text breaking things off. I don’t want to talk about it, I write. Please don’t try to contact me. I’ve made up my mind.

Then, for good measure, I block their phone numbers.

Wednesday afternoon, Dr. Hernandez injects a vial of sperm from Donor 155 into my cervix. I stay immobile for fifteen minutes after the procedure, and then I walk out of there.

I tell myself it’s better this way. Safer. I tell myself I’m doing what I need to do to protect myself.

But my heart feels like it’s been scoured with bleach. It’s raw and bruised and bleeding.