I drop my face into my hands. “Eli, I—”
Warm fingers wrap around my forearms. He gently guides me into a chair, then pulls one up in front of me. He interlaces our fingers, his smile soft and patient. “Talk to me, Angel.”
I meet his pale eyes—eyes that hold no judgement. “I had my fallopian tubes removed when I was twenty-one.” I swallow. “I was pregnant.”
His grip tightens.
“It was an ectopic pregnancy. The foetus implanted outside my uterus.” My voice steadies as I continue. “They could remove one tube, but the risk of it happening again was high. Or they could remove both… and I’d never be able to conceive naturally.”
The memories press against my skull. It wasn’t a planned pregnancy—I’d already booked an abortion—but the choice I had to make felt impossibly heavy for someone so young.
I’ve made peace with it now.
“I know adoption is an option,” I say quietly. “But it’s not something I want. I have Graham. He’s enough for me.”
Eli leans back, frown lines carving into his forehead. Then he drops to his knees in front of me, palms warm against my thighs.
“I’m sorry you went through that, Angel.”
I let out a shaky breath. “You’re not mad?”
He tilts his head. “Idowant to maim whoever got you pregnant.”
A laugh slips out of me, chased by a tear.
“But I’d never be mad at you, Em,” he adds softly. “You, me, and Graham? That’s more than enough for me too.”
Relief floods my chest.
I throw my arms around his neck and cry into him. He holds me there until there’s nothing left to cry out.
44
I Feel Safe With You
Eli's Search History: bilateral salpingectomy information and lasting effects
Eli
Myfingerswhitenonthe wooden doorframe beneath them. The bare room glares back at me, mocking.
The plans I had for this place have been quashed. The image of Emily, round with my children—gone.
I don’t care. Not really. Kids were never something I had particularly strong feelings about either way. But when I moved my angel in, I guess I just assumed they’d be the natural course of things.
Still, I’m mourning the loss of a future I’d already started picturing.
I would have loved her pregnant. But I love her more than the idea of imaginary children.
Kids are replaceable anyway, Emily is not.
All I care about now, is keeping her safe.
Anger surges through my veins at the thought of some fuckergetting her pregnant. After she told me about the bilateral salpingectomy—yes, I googled it—she explained how she’d gotten pregnant by a man she’d been with for two months. When she told him about the baby, he dipped. She didn’t even get the chance to tell him she didn’t want to keep it.
I want to rip that man’s head off with my bare hands.
Which is probably why she’s refusing to give me a name.