I have to tell her.

It shouldn't matter, I've told myself at least a thousand times.

The surgery was years ago, when I was still in college... and I've been down the road of not telling before.

It ended, ah, badly.

It's ridiculous that it should even be a factor in feelings for the one you've already confessed love for, but there it is.

I have to tell her.

Would it be any easier for me to tell because she was another woman?

I mean, I've read stories on the net of a straight girl in my position telling her new boyfriend, or even putting it off until she has a husband-to-be...

There are those that insist that a girl like me MUST disclose this kind of information about my past, because simply not telling is "lying" to my partner.

It's not fair!

I have to tell her.

I tell myself that she loves me, that she'll laugh at how silly it is for me to have worried, take me in her arms and calm me down.

But do I know for sure?

I have to tell her.

I tell myself that if she really loves me, it doesn't matter, so why bother telling?

If it does matter... does that mean she doesn't really love me?

I have to tell her.

Let me go over this.

I love her.

I want her to be a part of every aspect of my life.

Does that include my past?

Yes.

I have to tell her.

A single tear leaks from my left eye.

What's the worst if I don't tell her and she finds out some other way ten years from now?

Am I lying to her?

No.

Not technically.

I have to tell her.

Do I want to risk losing this wonderful love?

No.

I have to tell her.

Do I want to risk her feeling betrayed because I didn't "technically" lie to her ten years from now?

No.

I have to tell her.

I stand and check in the mirror -- knowing that my reflection gives no inkling of my medical history provides no comfort.

I walk out the door, lock it, and take a deep breath of the cool Spring air.

The gallery is only a few blocks, but each step is excruciatingly slow.

I put my hand on the door and pause, filling my lungs and quieting my nerves.

I wave at Ferris at the reception desk and he smiles and waves back -- would he be so friendly if he knew?

I have to tell her.

I timidly knock on the door of her private studio.

I have to tell her.

I have to tell her.

After we embrace, another tear makes its journey, and she notices something is wrong.

"Hannah?" she asks, "Baby, what's wrong?"

I take a deep breath and look her in the eyes.

I have to tell her.

"Aimee, I have something I need to tell you, if I'm going to be completely honest with you, and I need you to not say anything until I'm done or I'll lose my nerve and I've just spent all morning getting myself ready to tell you so please don't interrupt or say anything unil I've said it, just nod," I ramble, fighting down the choking fear.

She nodded.

She is so beautiful, not just in her looks, but she's the most beautiful person in her outlook, her personality, everything about her...

I have to tell her.

Another deep breath.

"When I was in college, I had a small, ah, corrective surgery," I begin.

There is a glimmer in her eyes like she knows what's coming but won't admit it to herself.

I'm sorry, Aimee.

"It was something I had been wanting since I was old enough to realize that I was different."

She settles onto her stool, waiting.

"I saved up the money to have it done, and, well... my mother came from Denver to go with me to a certain clinic in Colorado..."

She looks sympathetic -- I think she knows where I'm going with this and it doesn't look like she hates me.

"My father wasn't so supportive at first, and lectured me on how I should stay how God made me... but Mom... Mom knew I really didn't have a choice."

I am crying now.

Aimee starts to come to me to comfort me, but I motion her to stay where she is as I wipe at my now-streaked face.

"It didn't really take that long, and the recovery was the hard part... there aren't even noticeable scars."

She's smiling at me and crying, so it's going to be okay.

"I'll just come out and say it."

I lick my lips nervously and she smiles encouragingly.

"I used to have to wear a special... garment... to hide that I was different from other girls."

Another nod.

"The surgery fixed that and I threw it away, because now no one can tell..."

She stands and walks to me, arms outstretched, and this time I don't stop her.