“Fuck off,” she hisses, storming from the room.
I find her sitting on our bed, head in her hands, bawling her eyes out. A pillow connects with my forehead.
“I said fuck off,” she snarls. “Just leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to do the right thing,” I say, my hands up, useless.
“The right thing?” she wails. “Is you deciding what goes in my body the right thing, Terry? Do you know how much pressure I feel to give you this baby? And it’s out of my control.” She rubs her face violently. “IVF may not work. It probably won’t. Our odds stink. What then?” Her tear-streaked face turns to me. Her eyes red, brimming. “What happens then?” she asks again.
I stare at the woman I love with all my heart, but come up empty. The silence is a void I can’t fill. If I can’t be a father, life seems pointless. It’s the one thing I’ve always wanted.
Even though a decade has passed since we started trying, my mind never considered that I wouldn’t have children. I assumed it would happen when the time was right. But now, it feelsless likely, and the possibility of being childless becomes more realistic by the day.
“Terry,” Amy murmurs, and my attention returns to my wife. “Our cycle starts next month. I’ll do everything possible for this to work, but after this, it’s the end. I’m not doing this again.”
“You say that as if you already know it won’t work,” I grumble.
“In all likelihood, it won’t,” she whispers, and her tears fall again. “I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ll never be a parent. You’re going to need to figure that out for yourself. If by some miracle I do fall pregnant with the treatment…” Hope flickers, shame blows it out. “Perhaps all our issues will disappear.”
My heart rises and breaks simultaneously; the pressure in my chest having nowhere to go.
“But right at this moment, I feel like a complete failure as a woman. Reproducing is one of the most basic processes; it’s what we are created for, and I can’t even do that.”
I move without thinking, walking to the bed and lowering my lips to hers. She submits willingly. “Shall we celebrate your big win?” I murmur, and she smiles against my mouth. “Lift your arms.” She does, and I pull the crop top over her head. Her breasts spring free, beautiful and full. Standing, I take both her hands and pull her up onto her feet, slide her tight hot pants down her legs so she’s naked in front of me, then press her back to sit. I drop to my knees between her legs and press my face into her chest. “You’re my everything, Amz. Even after all these years, you’re the woman in my dreams.” Taking a nipple in my mouth, I tease until it stands to attention, then switch. My wife’s fingers tug my hair, then soothe. Heat climbs fast; I ache for her.
My tongue trails down her stomach. At her pussy, I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer. She opens, shuffling to the edge to give me more.
Her taste floods my mouth, grounding and intoxicating. She’s already wet, swollen. I nip at her flesh, and she groans. Greedy fingers push my face closer. I reply with long, slow licks.
“Terry,” she mumbles, “now, please.”
“Patience,” I say. Leaning over, I open our bedside drawer, which is filled with our toys, and take out the blue rabbit. It buzzes to life, and she whimpers, already half gone.
Sitting back on my knees, I drink her in—me fully clothed, her open and ready. “You look so fucking sexy.” I set the toy on her clit. She moans. Her legs try to snap shut. “Open,” I scold. “Take it.” With my free hand, I unzip and stroke my length; pre-cum beads.
“Lie back.” She obeys. I slide a pillow under her hips. Moving the rabbit from her clit, I line it up at her entrance and slowly ease it in. It finds her spot; she gasps and draws up her knees. “Do you want me to make you come, baby?” I whisper. “Or will I tease you some more?”
She opens her eyes, and we lock there while I work her with the toy. She lifts her legs, hugging them in. Her nipples are rock hard. I take one between my teeth, bite, and she wails, somewhere between pain and ecstasy, as I keep rhythm. “I’m going to come,” she whimpers.
“Let go,” I say, kissing her. She breaks apart, wet and shaking. I pull the toy free and drop my mouth between her legs, tasting the shiver. Once satisfied, I move over her and slide home.
We don’t talk after. We sleep. Breathing in unison, silent in comfort for the first time in months.
***
Amy dozes peacefully beside me as the summer sun cracks through the curtains. The single beam streaks across the darkness of our bedroom. Her chest rises and falls in perfectrhythm. Last night, everything clicked. Our bodies moved together, saying what our mouths wouldn’t.
Her question loops.What happens if it doesn’t work?My honest answer is, I don’t know. Though I love her completely, I’m not sure our marriage will survive not having kids.
We should’ve chased answers years ago. I told myself there was always a reason to wait. Now in my fifties, the clock ticks louder. Each tick closes the door on my dreams another inch.
If the treatment fails, what then? A life of flipping burgers while my wife lives at the gym? She has her people and her dreams. Do they include me? She said she accepted not being a mother?news to me.
I thought we’d restart trying once Bex was gone. Time passed. People change. But my hope remained.
“Morning,” Amy mumbles. Eyes closed. “What are you thinking about? I can hear the cogs from here.”
“Last night. You were amazing.”
