Everything was not fine.
Everything was, in fact, so spectacularly not fine that I'd spent the last three days conducting a private negotiation with God, my uterus, and the universe – offering up increasingly unhinged bargains in exchange for one simple biological event that had never in my life been late before and had chosen this specific moment to go rogue.
My period was three days late. And the condom had broken two weeks ago.
I remember the exact moment. His apartment. Middle of the night. The pause – both of us going still, looking down, the quiet f**k he'd muttered that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with a piece of latex that had chosen violence. He'd asked if I was on birth control. I'd said yes. He'd said okay. We'd moved on.
Except my body hadn't moved
