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Dear Sarah from exactly six months ago, You're currently sitting on the cold hexagonal tiles of the downstairs half-bath at 11:42 PM. You're wearing Dave's oversized college sweatpants with the bleach stain on the knee, and you're hyperventilating into a...

Listen, thirty-four weeks pregnant, I was sitting on my Chicago apartment's bathroom tiles at two in the morning with a purple washable marker, poking my own abdomen. The snow was coming down hard outside, and my late-night search history was...