Mark called for the doctor and an old man came in, wearing a calm, reassuring expression across his face that medical types often had when delivering bad news. The damage to her tube was so great they had had to remove it.

‘But that’s why Mother Nature gives us two of things.’ He smiled, an attempt, she guessed, to make her feel better. His words came at her in a blur. Risk of reoccurrence. Blah, blah, blah. Specialist in Sydney. Blah, blah, blah. He finally left the room.

Nicky turned to Mark. ‘When can we go home?’

A week later Nicky sat in the specialist’s suite in Darlinghurst, squeezing her hands. She’d had ultrasounds and a laparoscopy, just to make sure everything was okay for when they wanted to have a baby, and they were waiting on the results. Mark paced the elegant waiting room.

Inside the consultation room the specialist asked them to take a seat. She was a tall woman with a kind face and her demeanour immediately put Nicky at ease. She talked about each test, what it was designed to do, what it told her, what Nicky’s tests said specifically.

‘There is significant obstruction of your remaining fallopian tube, a malformation from birth, it seems. The chances of you falling pregnant without assistance are very slim …’

Nicky reached out for Mark’s hand. He didn’t return her squeeze. The doctor continued to detail Nicky’s situation and Nicky tried to focus on her words.

The ride home was silent. Nicky and Mark sat far apart from each other in the back of the taxi. Mark’s head was bent down over his phone the whole time.

When they got home Nicky ordered in dinner, not that she felt like eating, but it was something to do. Maybe it would bring Mark back to her, make him talk to her as they sat at the dining table. When the food arrived she took out the plates and cutlery and set the table. Mark still wasn’t talking.

She pushed her curry around the plate, barely taking a bite, watching him intently as he put forkful after forkful in his mouth, his eyes lowered to the table the entire time.

‘Mark. Please talk to me.’

He looked up.

‘Please. We need to discuss this.’

‘What more is there to say?’

‘We haven’t said anything. About how we’re feeling. About what our options are. Talk to me, Mark.’

Mark got up from the table and cleared his plate away. ‘Are you finished?’ He took her plate too.

‘Mark, please,’ she said, and grabbed his arm.

‘There’s nothing to say, Nicky.’

‘There’s plenty to say. We have options. Maybe not great options, but still. Options.’