Now, in our extra time, we were facing a difficult choice.

I was thirty-six and he was forty.

We were thinking about having a child.

Our positions had reversed.

Sina was clear about what he wanted.

I was afraid.

That fearless Mahta had become very cautious. She has become much more cautious. I like my life this way. My life with Sina, my work, my leisure. I am afraid of changing it.

A child could make everything much better and sweeter—or completely destroy what we have.

Maybe it wouldn’t be quite so black and white, but that’s how it feels to me.

I’m afraid of getting pregnant and having a child born with a problem. Or of something happening to me. Or at the very least, of having a child consume so much of our attention that we lose sight of each other.

On the other hand, I would love to have a child with Sina, because of all the good things that child could bring with it.

I don’t have much time left to decide.

Sina has left the decision entirely to me.

Before we married, I had said I never wanted children.

He had said the same.

But my mind has changed a little.

A while ago, I told him one day, “Now that I’m thirty-six, the thought of having a child tickles something inside me every now and then. I’m afraid if I keep going like this, by the time I’m sixty I’ll regret it terribly. By then it will be too late.”

Sina didn’t answer.

Unlike me, who used to make every decision suddenly, he made decisions carefully and deliberately.

Over the years, I had become a little more like him, and he had become a little more like me.

Maybe life had taught both of us to move a little closer toward the middle.

I didn’t bring up the subject again for several days.

That was always how it was.

Whenever I said something, there was no way he simply ignored it.

I only had to give him time to do all his calculations inside his head.

Of course, sometimes his calculations took so long that I lost interest in the entire subject.

This morning, before he left, he said to me:

“It’s true that I don’t like sharing you with anyone. But after thinking about it carefully, I realized that if our child were like you, I’d rather have that child come into the world. It would be a shame if there were only one of you.”

He ended the sentence with such a peaceful smile that I felt perhaps it really was time for us to have a child too.

I wished he would simply say, with certainty, “I want a child,” and that would be the end of it. Then I would do what any other woman would do.

But instead he told me:

“Now, if we want to, we can have a child. I wouldn’t mind having a child with you. But it’s up to you. If you don’t want one, I won’t insist.”

I wish we had another ten years to decide.

Sina and I are complete, just the two of us.

We don’t get bored and need a child to fill our time.

When we’re both at home, we often don’t even talk very much. Yet we feel peaceful simply being in each other’s presence.

I don’t want a child to disturb that peace.

But I’m afraid I might regret it later.