“You would definitely be wearing the food by now.” His lips brush my temple. “This is such a treat, lying here with you. I love having nowhere to be.”
“I miss you, Amz,” he whispers into my hair, and my chest aches.
“I’m still here,” I tell him. But even as I say it, the words feel like a lie. Part of me is at the gym, planning classes andconsidering our next promotion. The guilt of that truth sits heavy on my heart, but I don’t know how to shake it.
He sighs softly. When I look at him, he closes his eyes and lays his head back on the sofa.
“Terry, what is it? What’s wrong?” He shakes his head, as if not wanting to continue the conversation. “Darling, talk to me, please. I’m worried now.”
He moves me to the side before rising to his feet and pacing the room, his fingers twisting together nervously. A prickling sensation nips the back of my neck. I rub it to relieve the tension. “The thing is…” He drops to his knees, strong fingers at my waist. “Have you thought any more about the treatment?”
“Treatment?” I stutter, blindsided by the unexpected subject. My natural defenses fire, and I step out of his grip. “You mean the fertility treatment?”
“What other fucking treatment could I be talking about?” he snaps, standing abruptly and beginning his trek around the room once more. “The gym’s taken over everything. Our dreams, our time. We’re not getting any younger, Amz. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it now.”
“Darling,” I say. “It’s been three years since the IVF offer…” I trail off, not knowing what to say.
“We didn’t go ahead with the treatment because Bex needed you. You said that your head couldn’t cope with any more complications. Now is our chance. Our chance to be parents.” The look he gives me begs me to understand his position on this.
His eyes are spilling over with hope. The kind that used to make me love him a little more. But now, it only pours dread on top of the pain of what I couldn’t give him. The fear that I’ll fail again. That I’ll fail him.
“We’re too old to become parents now. Our child would be in their teens, and you would be pushing seventy. We missed our chance, and life worked out differently. I can’t go back to theinsanity of trying to get pregnant. It took too much of a toll. Can we not just enjoy the life we have?”
“The life we have?” he barks. “The life you have, you mean. It’s all right for you, swanning around with your own business. Spending night after night training with your bodybuilding friends. I want my wife back. I want us to have a life together, not just be the man waiting at home for you.”
“Well, fucking do something with your life,” I scream. “Stop pissing around pretending to be twenty. It’s your own fucking fault you’re still flipping burgers at half a century, Terry Trodden,” I snarl, venom dripping from every word. “Another victim of failure in the bright lights of the city.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to swallow them again. I wish I could take them back, even though they’re true. His anger collapses, immediately replaced with pain. Shame claws in my throat, screaming to find something soothing to say. I have nothing.
We both fall silent, staring at each other. Then he turns and storms out the door, banging it shut behind him.
The echo of the impact feels like something final. I sit, heart shattered, wondering how two people who wanted so much together can end up oceans apart. The emptiness that follows is worse than the shouting, but sadly familiar. It’s the kind that seeps into your pores and stays there. Talking has become a dangerous game in our home; each of us wondering who will be the first to crack.
On Valentine’s Day 2007, my decision to not have children of my own wavered and changed. As I held my nephew in my arms, my soon-to-be husband wrapped his arms around me. We were both held fast by the tiny blue eyes we looked down upon. Liam was a beautiful baby with a shock of black hair and clear skin. In that moment, at the age of thirty-four, I decided I wanted to be a mother.
Back then, it had been a revelation, a shared dream neither of us ever expected to be achievable. We whispered names to each other in the middle of the night. His laugh still rings in my ears from when I told him I wanted twins. Today’s battlefield is nothing like the heaven we planned for. Our family has become our nemesis that will never be beaten.
Terry and I were due to get married in May. Bex demanded three months to get slimmed back down into her dress. Our wedding was a small affair at a local registry office, then a meal with family. That night, we started trying to complete our own family.
Ignorant as I was, I assumed we would stop using protection and I would get knocked up. No problem. Women get pregnant all the time. It’s the most natural process in the world. Not for us.
A year down the line, only one line appeared on every pregnancy test. Don’t worry, friends said. It will happen. Just keep doing the deed, and the baby will come.
By the end of our second year of trying, I was charting my cycles, taking supplements, and buying every conceivable aid to get pregnant. We would have sex, and I would lie with my legs up against the headboard to help the swimmers reach their destination. It didn’t work.
Terry and I both underwent testing, but no issues were found. Unexplained infertility, the doctor said. Reduce your stress levels. Eat healthier. Relax. It’s the most natural process in the world, they repeated. Come back in two years if you haven’t conceived by then.
Time passed, and no baby, then Bex was diagnosed with cancer. My life went on the back burner, and my role of being my sister’s support was implemented. Anytime Terry tried to talk to me about kids, I shot him down. Now, over ten years on from when we first started trying, we are still childless.
I try to convince myself it doesn’t hurt anymore. That enough time has passed that I’ve made peace with it. But some nights, when Terry snores softly beside me, I picture the child we were never blessed with. The baby who’s never existed except in my head. Every giggle, every tiny finger, is so real I can almost touch it.
I tell myself they were meant to be mine. And then I remind myself that a dream is all it is. You’re not owed the life you create in your mind.
Terry appears home as darkness falls over the city. He looks rough but sober, which is a surprise.
“Where have you been?” I ask. He doesn’t look at me, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “Terry, do you want to talk about this now?”
“I suppose,” he mumbles like a petulant schoolboy. “But I’m guessing you’ve already made the decision for us.”
