"Katya," he murmurs, and turns a little more, shifting under her just enough to be able to look at her better.

"You're not that. You are not. You are anything but selfish."

"We tried," and his voice has dropped and thickened because these words are hard, these thoughts are hard and muddled with aching, "to make life. We wanted a baby."

"No matter what else there was, that is not wrong. We wanted that."

Wanted.

Want.

(Won't have.)