Catherine stopped unpacking and tore into me head on. “Do you think being a mother helped that Little girl in the restaurant a couple weeks ago? How do you think her kids feel knowing that their mom is sleeping in a crib every night and calling some stranger ‘Daddy’? Do you want to put that pressure on our kids? With your job?”
“What about my job?”
“If we had a kid, how would you explain to them that their father works right next to captured mind-fucked Littles and isn’t allowed to do anything about it?” She got in front of me. She looked very much like a brown haired version of her mother in that moment. “What would you do if I got caught? How would you explain to our kid that you saw his Mom at school everyday getting her ass wiped and put down for naps?”
“I thought you’d want me to run and bug out if you ever got caught,” I said. This was a mistake. I’d opened up the wrong can of worms.
.