Читать книгу The Confessions Of A Concubine онлайн

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The menstrual cycle arrived inexorably at the end of each month to destroy my dreams, fostered in those three, four days it was late.

Two, three, four times.

It was too much.

Too many hopes shattered...

We each thought that there was probably something wrong with the other, a mechanism that did not work properly, a spark that did not fire at the right time.

Then once I was ten days late: I did not talk about it, as if this could make my dream

unbreakable, but it was nothing more than a soap bubble, beautiful, iridescent, carried on the wings of the wind, but destined to vanish in a plof.

Silently I let the minutes flow by, and the days and weeks became months.

For almost two months I cradled the idea of a baby in my thoughts, a grain of life that could give meaning to mine, that illuminated the darkness of my existence.

For quite some time, after that night, I had no more tears to cry.

I was awakened from sleep by pangs in my lower abdomen that seemed to want to tear my bowels apart.

In silence, dragging myself, I managed to reach the bathroom where a horrendous discovery awaited me when I turned on the light.