I broke off. It had been very, very hard to say that. It hurt, a real, physical pain, as well as a more fundamental, existential ache.
For goodness’ sake— existential ache, Eleanor! I said to myself. Get a grip.
Maria spoke gently. “But you’re not your mother, are you, Eleanor?
You’re a completely separate person, an independent person, making your own choices.”
She gave an encouraging smile.You’re still a young woman—if you wanted to, you could have a family of your own one day,
and be a totally different kind of mother. What do you think about that?”
That was an easy one. “Oh, I’ll never have children,” I said, calm, matter-of-fact.
She indicated that I should keep talking. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? I mean, what if I passed it on, the Mummy thing?
Even if I don’t have it, it could skip a generation, couldn’t it?
Or... or what if it’s the act of giving birth that brings it out in a person?
It could be lying dormant all this time, waiting...” She looked very serious.
“Eleanor, I’ve worked with several clients over the years who’ve had similar worries to yours.
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