Poem haunted by the sound of a long e

I’ve never been able to tell this story.
I was wooed by my favorite writer in 1990.
We met in the faculty lounge of her university in the city.
She offered me three free years of writing poetry.
She tried to charm me as I ate my meal silently.
I didn’t say my boyfriend had begun behaving violently.
I didn’t say I was carrying what might become a baby.
I didn’t want to be the kind of person who inspired pity.
I never thanked her for the opportunity.
It wouldn’t be the last time he hit me, although I left him eventually.
After the procedure, the report: female, no genetic abnormality.
For decades, I wouldn’t think about what might have been, if only.
The poems I might have written. And the girl. Her body.
An animal that’s trapped will do what’s necessary.