The Invasion of the Tearling

“What if it’s not my eggs that are the problem?”


Greg’s brow furrowed, and his lower lip pushed out a fraction of an inch. He had expected his idea to be received with enthusiasm, Lily saw now, and the unadulterated contempt that had reared its head on the night of Dorian’s arrival (of the rape, Maddy reminded her) seemed to multiply and fester inside her. Greg thought that he had come up with a great idea, that having another woman’s eggs forcibly implanted inside her would seem like a godsend to Lily. And for the first time, it occurred to her to wonder whether Greg even understood that he had raped her. After Frewell, it was almost impossible to prove rape at all, and spousal rape hadn’t been prosecuted in years. What would consent even mean to Greg? The bulk of his sexual education seemed to have come from his father and his frat buddies, and none of them had done him any favors.

Lily cleared her throat, dragging the words up as though with a chainfall. It would be so much easier not to say anything, but she had to know. “The other night—”

“I’m sorry, Lil.” Greg took her hand, cutting her off. “I didn’t mean to take it all out on you. Even without the bombing, work has been so bad lately.”

“You raped me.”

Greg’s mouth popped open, an expression of such complete surprise overtaking his face that Lily realized she had been right: he didn’t know. She turned away, staring out the window. They were just passing through the great stone arch of the New Canaan Country Club, and beyond, the vast greens of the golf course stretched toward the near horizon. Greg cleared his throat, and Lily knew what was coming even before he spoke.

“You’re my wife.”

Before she knew what she was doing, she laughed. Greg’s face darkened, but he didn’t know that Lily wasn’t laughing at him, but at herself. Frewell’s bullshit had worked on her too, because until the other night she had honestly believed that marriage turned men into better people, better protectors. But marriage didn’t change anyone. Lily had married a man shaped by his father, the same father who had put a hand on Lily’s ass at the wedding rehearsal dinner and asked whether he could get an early slice of the cake. Was she actually surprised, now, that this was where they had ended up? Was she even allowed to complain?

The tag, Lil, Maddy whispered, and she was right. The tag was the great equalizer. Lily couldn’t run, because no matter where she ran to, all the money in the world wouldn’t keep Greg from finding her there, and Security wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him from taking her back; they would fall all over themselves to assist one of their own.

The car pulled up at the entryway, and Lily sensed Greg’s relief at the end to the conversation. Coldness had descended on Lily now, a state of nearly frozen calculation. For the first time, she saw that she might have even bigger problems than what had happened the other night. She knew the amount of professional grief Greg was enduring about being childless; it was certainly impeding his career. But she had underestimated how desperate Greg was, how far he was willing to go. They moved through the enormous marble entryway of the club, an edifice that Lily usually admired, but now she barely saw it, her mind continuing forward on its unpleasant track. In vitro fertilization had been illegal since Lily was in grade school, but it was a booming black market among wealthy couples, who saw additional children as an easy way to earn the Frewell tax breaks. If Greg had found an in vitro doctor, would that doctor be able to tell that Lily was on contraception? Was there a way to flush the hormones out of her system somehow? She couldn’t ask the Internet; that was the sort of search that got you a visit from Security.

Why don’t you tell him you don’t want kids?