She wasn’t as agile when leaping; her previously tiny nipples gained volume and her torso considerable girth. The news of her pregnancy made me happy for her, but also a little worried because of the vet’s warning. Still, enthusiasm won out. In probably just a few months I’d have an apartment full of playful kittens. I emptied out my bottom dresser drawer and carefully prepared a soft place for them. Greta was meeker and more affectionate toward me than ever, and gratefully accepted my petting and attention. But the happiness was short lived. Fifteen days after Ander left my period didn’t come when it should have and didn’t come late, as I naïvely expected it to. I took a home pregnancy test and prayed, as I was sitting on the toilet, for it to be negative. However, two lines stained the white oval, confirming my fears. In the passing of a few minutes the happy and tender mind-set Greta’s pregnancy had put me in turned into a nightmare. I didn’t have the faintest idea what I should do, not even what I really wanted.

I was in a state of shock for a week, wondering if I should seek advice or decide on my own, if it was wise to tell Ander—with whom I’d hardly had any contact in the past few weeks—wondering, above all, if I wanted and was able to take on motherhood at that point in my life. If I did, my child would probably grow up without a father. That Ander was a foreigner, a fact I’d initially been grateful for and that had encouraged as much closeness as it did distance, now complicated things even more. I barely knew him. I couldn’t even really say what kind of person he was. But then, what kind of person was I? The answers that came to mind were not that flattering. I’d always had a hard time making decisions. It was hard for me even with trivial matters to discard many options in favor of one, and in that moment this very annoying characteristic took on disproportionate dimensions. As I watched Greta dragging her cumbersome body across the hardwood floor, I got a taste of the many forms of helplessness. Like hers, my body was changing with dizzying speed. The fatigue, and especially the nausea, made any activity beyond the most essential—showering, grocery shopping, feeding the cats—an impossible feat. The rest of my time was spent in bed, in the company of Milton, who never stopped purring in my ear. Those were very confusing days.

Every time my mind seemed to finally clear and reveal some hint of a decision, the impulse was crushed by an immense guilt.