The school called. “Your daughter hasn’t been pick…

my eggs.”

“You were going to let the chance disappear,” he snapped. “You always chose work.”

There it was.

Not remorse.

Not even real defense.

Entitlement.

He had convinced himself that my ambition disqualified me from choice. That because I might not have chosen motherhood on his preferred timeline, he had the right to choose it for me.

Through me.

Without continue reading …