What would you do if your world seemed imperfect? Would you start a family, knowing you’re bringing life into that fold? Would you forego one version of your future if it meant holding on to another one? Would you do what everybody else was doing, falling in love, and letting it happen, or what’s worse, having a child accidentally? The way the world is, how people talk, how people treat women with such disregard and reckless abandon, with all the hatred, bigotry, suffering, would you bring life into that if you had a choice? If you knew how to circumnavigate it all, and your partner didn’t—could you do it, knowing a child would be that less safe? Would you remember who you were, what you wanted when you stood in the light on the hill, with all those faces watching in the cool blue snow? Would you believe in divine will? Or your own free one? What of faith? And what of love?
Where does risk end and future begin?
