![]() I worry them between my fingers like stones until they are bright and smooth. I collect these moments-the sorrows, the petty betrayals of my body. I went to the bathroom and tried to find my reflection in the mirror. I said, "Yes, baby." He would like me to find the way to his heart through my womb. I smiled back, even though he could not see me. He said, "Women like that are invisible to me." Then he smiled, said we would make pretty babies. Once, while we were drinking wine, I asked, "But what about women who can't have children? What about women who tried and things ended badly?" A look of perfect disgust crossed his face. He doesn't know there was once fruit in my womb that spoiled. The way to his heart is not through the stomach, but through the womb. Motherhood, he said, is the truest expression of a woman a woman is not really a woman until she bears children. ![]() ![]() He told me how much he loves women because they can bear children. WHEN WE FIRST MET he told me how much he loves children.
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