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Summary
She thought about the baby again. About how soft she'd felt. About the wanting.
You don't get to want things, she thought, not for the first time. People like you don't get to want things. You know what you are.
A failure. That was the word. Not the surgery — never the surgery, the surgery was the one place she was not a failure, the one place her hands did exactly what she asked them to, and the outcome made sense, and the variables were manageable. Everything else. Every soft human thing she had ever tried to do. She was so tired of being competent in one room and catastrophic in every other.