Like a husband who only thinks about himself. I stood up. I'm thinking about my marriage. Anna reached for my arm. Larry, please.
Let's go home. I looked down at her hand, then back at her face. For the first time in six years, I wasn't sure whether the woman standing beside me was still the woman I married. Because this wasn't just about having a baby. It was about whether Anna believed she needed my permission to make a decision that could change both of our lives.
And judging by the look on her face, she had already started making that decision without me. When Anna and I got home that night, she didn't say anything until we reached the kitchen. I put my keys down. How long have they been talking about this? Anna took off her coat.
I don't know. Anna sighed. "About three weeks. " I stared at her. Three weeks. Clare has been struggling for years, Larry.
She and Gregory are running out of options. That's not what I asked. She looked away. You knew your family wanted you to do this for almost a month, and you never told me. I wasn't sure what I thought.
You could have told me that. I knew you'd say no. Because it's a reasonable thing to say no to. Anna folded her arms. It's not our child.
You're still the one carrying it. She shook her head. The doctor said it would be an embryo transfer. It's not like I'm having Gregory's baby. I don't care whose DNA it has.
My voice became colder. You'd be pregnant for nine months. We'd be living through the pregnancy together. We'd be dealing with doctors, appointments, complications, everything. How can you decide something like that without me?
Anna didn't answer. That silence told me enough. The next morning, she came into the kitchen while I was making coffee. Clare wants us to meet with her doctor. I turned around.
No, Larry. No, just hear me out. I already heard you. She leaned against the counter. They have one embryo left.
I said nothing. One, she repeated. If this doesn't work, they may never have a child. I looked at her. And that means you have to give them one.
Not give them, carry it. You're splitting hairs. Anna's eyes filled with frustration. You don't understand what this means to Clare. Maybe I don't, but I understand what it means to me.
She stared at me. I won't agree to this. She nodded slowly. "Okay. " "Okay? " I said. "Okay. " I watched her carefully.
There was something about the way she said it that bothered me. It wasn't surrender. It sounded like she had simply decided not to argue anymore. Over the next two weeks, Anna became more distant. She started going to medical appointments she described as consultations.
When I asked what they were for, she said Clare needed support. I didn't stop her from seeing her sister. I didn't want to become the husband who controlled every movement his wife made. But I also stopped pretending everything was normal. Then on a Thursday evening, Anna came home and placed an envelope on the kitchen counter.
What is that? She looked nervous. Information from the clinic. I opened it. The first page explained gestational surrogacy.