His expression darkened instantly. "Jessica, what is wrong with you? Your own body is useless, you can't give me a child, and now you're throwing a tantrum? You expect me to coax you?"
He sat up, his eyes cold. "Go ask around. Whose wife is barren and still gets treated like a queen? I've done enough. What more do you want?"
I met his gaze with dead eyes.
He waited for the submission that always came.
It didn't.
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The next day, I went to the clinic.
"This procedure will likely leave you permanently infertile," the doctor warned.
I nodded. "Do it."
Before the surgery, I called Walter. Even then, in my moment of greatest fear, a pathetic part of me wanted to hear his voice.
Twenty-two calls.
He didn't answer a single one.
Disappointment settled over me like a shroud. I put the phone away and walked into the operating room.
When I woke from the anesthesia, my phone was still silent. No messages. No missed calls.
I opened social media. Charlotte had posted a new update.
A photo of her and Walter, surrounded by friends. Their faces were pressed together intimately. Around her neck hung a massive, glittering ruby pendant.
The caption read: