Taylor

2:30 p.m.

“Dr. Wilson will see you now,” the middle-aged, red-haired receptionist interrupts my perusal of a random waiting room magazine. Abandoning the tattered tabloid, I rise to enter the interior office of Dr. Wilson, Kennedy’s beloved therapist.

I remind myself to keep an open mind. I need to work through my issues with men, and I need to discuss issues with the surrogacy that I can’t share with Kennedy or Jackson. Nervously, I will myself to place one ...