I did not want an abortion. Nor did I want a child. The doctor asked if I was sure, and in the absence of knowing how to say no, I nodded. She asked if I was alone. No, I told her, my partner was in the waiting room. I read his messages on my phone — of how we’d get through this, that we’d be home soon, eat ice cream and watch re-runs of shows, and that he had only gone to find the bathroom, and I should stay near the receptionist and wait for him.
But later, as the waiting room emptied, as a young woman tapped the keyboard of her computer with perfectly pointed nails, I realised he was gone. He was gone
