I did not sleep that night.

Sleep would have required peace, and there was none left inside me. The house was quiet, but not in a comforting way. It felt watchful. Heavy. Like the walls themselves were listening.

By the time dawn began to stretch pale fingers across the Manhattan skyline, I was already standing under the shower, letting scalding water beat against my skin. I scrubbed as though I could wash off humiliation. As though I could rinse away the echo of her words.

Barren.

Infertile.

I ...