She tried to tell herself that she should count her blessings. She tried to smile at the breakfast table and pretend that it didn’t matter that she’d a wad of cloth between her legs, but Michael always saw it in her eyes, and he seemed to hold her closer through the day, kiss her brow more often. Maybe even more than he wanted one himself. Not because he wanted a child, which he did, but rather because she wanted one so desperately.Īnd he wanted it for her. She’d counted them, of course made depressing little hatch marks on a piece of paper she kept tucked away in her desk, in the far back corner of the middle drawer, where Michael wouldn’t see. She’d suffered through her courses thirty-three times. It had been three years since she’d married Michael. Twenty-four to thirty-one until she might expect to bleed again, provided she didn’t conceive. Excerpt from The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |