Except mine.
Taylor inhales beside me – barely a sound, but it splinters right through me. Like I can see it: my DNA fracturing under a microscope. Scientific proof that I’m faulty.
‘But…’ Taylor swallows, her voice barely audible. ‘What does that mean? Practically?’
‘It means,’ the doc says in that same gentle tone that hammers it in deeper, ‘that natural conception would be extremely unlikely. Even with assistance, with our most advanced methods… we would be working with sperm that are struggling at a biological level to create healthy embryos.’
Poison: that’s what I said, that’s what I am.
A deranged laugh bubbles up, choking up my chest.
Taylor glances my way, her fingers tightening around mine as I stare straight ahead.
And she knows it now, too.
‘But therearepaths available to you,’ the doc stresses again. ‘They’re not easy, and they’re not guaranteed… but they exist. IVF with ICSI. Potential retrieval procedures. Further consults. We will walk you through them all.’
Taylor nods quickly, too quickly. ‘So… you’re not saying there’s zero chance.’
The desperate hope in her voice is like a knife to the heart.
‘No, not zero,’ the doc says, the compassion in her eyes twisting right through me. ‘But the odds are very small. And the journey would likely be long, emotionally demanding, and expensive. Multiple cycles. Many failures. But?—’
‘Money isn’t an issue,’ Tay says immediately.
The doc nods like she’s heard it a million times before.
And it crushes me, because we worked damn hard to get where we are, but what’s money when it can’t buy you what you want most? A heartbeat. A life.
And it ain’t the thing that costs the most either.
It’s the emotional toll of going through treatment…
I see her in the shower that morning. Crushed. Broken. And it destroys me all over again. Because it was me all along. I caused that pain. I put it there.
And that morning will likely be one of many, each more devastating than the last if she continues down this road with me.
That’s the road I see reflected in the doc’s eyes as she turns her focus entirely on Taylor. ‘You have a relatively good ovarian picture for thirty-eight. You have some time, but it isn’t endless. Using donor sperm would give you the highest chance of conceiving soon and delivering safely.’
Taylor’s breath hitches. ‘But I want his child.’
And my world – what’s left of it – drops out from under me.
The doc nods, slow. ‘I understand. And that matters. Truly. But if your goal is for you to carry your own biological child, donor sperm gives you the strongest chance. I’m not telling you what to choose. I’m giving you the full picture so that you may both decide.’
The full picture.
And I’m the empty space in it. The one firing blanks. The nothing.
My jaw locks. My pulse slams through my skull.
The doc keeps talking. Pathways. Options. Steps forward. While Tay questions her in a voice that trembles and tries to stay steady. When she releases my hand to rake hers through her hair, I curl mine into a fist and drag it back to my thigh.
Finally, there’s a lull; we’re done.
I’m on my feet and Taylor follows, clutching a stack of leaflets like a life preserve.
At the door, the doc stops me.
