Wrapped in my coat, tears piercing my eyes, attempting flight as I have no desire to fight, I turn towards the front door as Remy finishes his sentence, “I don’t know why the Hell Galax told you that! I was not having sex on the island! And we don’t even know for sure!”
“We? Speaking in plural again?” Turning around to face him, I add, “And she knows . . . for sure! What a fool I’ve been.”
Anger pulses through his now glacier-blue eyes across from me in our foyer, as he manages, “No children were born at the park. That we know.” The solemnity of his words is sobering, “All of us were given physicals when we returned home, but the doctors weren’t looking for this. Danielle went for an exam just this week; they’re running tests. Horace suggested it; he and Miles worked some of this out on their own.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My mouth strung by saliva hinders my speech. Exhausted, my voice cumbersome and foreign is not my own as I ask the most gruesome question of all, “Why didn’t you tell me we were both sterilized?”
“What would I have said?” His eyes brim with tears, “That I wasn’t man enough to protect you from him... Again?”
Standing in place my strength diminished, I fall back against the door. Shaking, nowhere to go, my world falling apart. “It’s too much,” I respond, aware of a giant void between us corrupting the space.
Remy closes the gap. Taking my coat, he throws it on the floor. Motionless, I stand there as he wipes my tears, his own tears staining his cheeks. “I’m so sorry my love,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me, “I am so sorry.”