Month after month, year after year.
One line.
Negative.
No baby.
Testing.
Inconclusive results.
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to conceive. Just relax. Take these supplements. Keep your legs up afterwards.
Gabriel only became more and more cruel with each passing year that I didn’t produce him any children. Memories of the times he would insist on having sex with me—even when I was bleeding and cramping—resurface. He never said so, but now I’m wondering if it was his way of punishing me somehow.
I think at some point I became numb to it all. I became the wife with no children. Purposeless. A failure. At least, that’s what I believed until recently. Now, I’m not so sure.
Maverick’s kindness this morning, his gentleness and understanding, only serve to further confuse me. Instead of treating me like I was a failure, he helped me with the dirty sheets and tucked meback into bed to rest. He reassured me that I’m normal. He’s the most nurturing man I’ve ever met, and I’m finding that to be an extremely attractive quality. He takes care of everyone around him with such authenticity, but I can’t help but wonder, who takes care of him?
I clear away any lingering thoughts of the Rebel leader and get back to the task at hand.
Mom,I write at the top of the page. There, that wasn’t so hard.
There are a thousand things I could say, but it would take pages and pages to catch her up on the last thirteen years. So instead, I settle on the most important details.
I’m safe.
I love you.
Delilah
I fold the paper in thirds and writeElizabethon the front. I have no idea if or how it will actually get to her, but I hope Maverick can find a way. I stand and walk over to the desk, placing the paper there before lying back down in the bed.
It’s been a few months since my last cycle, and I forgot how fatigued it makes me. I close my eyes, allowing myself to rest. I don’t know at what point I started to feelsafehere, but my body is undoubtedly more relaxed than it has been in ages.
???
Pine and citrus fill my nose as I feel someone gently caress my cheek. “Mrs. Sinclair.”
I force my eyelids open, still groggy. Maverick’s looking down at me, his brows pulled down in a slight frown. “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep.”
He pulls his hand back from my cheek, and I find myself disappointed at the loss of contact. “Don’t apologize. Your body needed rest.”
I stretch and sit up, trying to gauge the time by the amount of light coming through the canvas. “What time is it?”
Maverick looks at his wristwatch. “A little after noon. How are you feeling?”
My lower abdomen still feels heavy, but it’s not outright painful like it was this morning. Again, I’m struck by his genuine concern for me. “Better. Thank you.”
“I have someone who would like to meet you, if you’re feeling up for it.”
I try to hide my shock, but I’m sure it’s written all over my face. “Someone wants to meetme?”
Maverick stands from his squatting position and holds his hand out for me to take. “I apologize in advance for any jokes you’re forced to laugh at.”
I reach my arm up and he grasps my hand firmly, pulling me to my feet with ease. His hand is rough and calloused—so unlike Gabriel’s—and I have the strangest urge to study and trace the lines on his palms. Reluctantly, I force myself to release his hand and cross my arms instead. “Color me intrigued.”
He leads me out of the tent, noticing the camp is buzzing with activity. Around the Hub, people are talking and laughing animatedly. I look at Maverick, who must see the question in my eyes.
