And I — I want to be honest about my own part in this, because this is as much a story about what I allowed as about what was done to me — I had mistaken my own steady sacrifice for love.

I had believed that giving him the thing he longed for was the same as being loved for who I was.

It took me a long time, and a birthmark, to learn the difference.

When the fifth pregnancy turned out to be a boy, Matthias painted the nursery navy blue before we had chosen a crib.

He ordered a carved wooden sign with the name he’d already picked — Asher — and hung it before the baby had a heartbeat we could hear.

He bought tiny sneakers and a miniature football and a little jersey before our son had a single preference in the world.