I sat beside him for a long moment, struck by how strange it was that this question felt more intimate than almost anything we'd discussed since I came back. We'd talked about betrayal, careers, distance, power, even entire homes. Somehow we'd never really talked about this."I don't think it's just us," I finally said.He went very still. Not shocked. Just listening.I told him I wasn't announcing a plan. I didn't know when, or even exactly what I wanted yet. But when I'd pictured that extra room earlier, I hadn't pictured books."Did you always want that?" he asked.Once, yes. During the early years of our marriage, I'd assumed children would happen eventually. But eventually kept moving, because Ashbourne always had another crisis, another milestone, another reason to wait. Then the marriage itself grew lonelier, and somewhere in that final year before the ballroom, I stopped picturing children with him at all."Because you stopped wanting them?" he asked quietly."Because I alread
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