23. Fae #3
But what happens when he does? When he looks at the baby, will he see me…
or him? And when I look, what will I see?
Love… or a reminder of everything that was taken from me?
My thoughts spiral, slipping over themselves as they tangle into something I can’t control.
Nature or nurture. If it’s a boy, does that mean I spend the rest of my life waiting for something to surface?
Waiting for him to become something I can’t stop?
The thought makes my stomach twist as heat rises up my throat so quickly I have to clamp a hand over my mouth.
I barely make it to the toilet before my body folds in on itself and everything I ate comes up in relentless waves.
I feel Roman behind me. He places a warm hand against my lower back, moving it in slow, steady circles that don’t rush me.
By the time the doctor comes back in, she takes one look at us and walks over to get tissues.
She keeps her voice calm and even as she talks through our next steps; vitamins, follow-up appointments, what to expect over the next few weeks, and I hear almost none of it.
I just nod and let Roman answer what needs answering.
By the time we get back to the car, the silence between us is heavy enough to choke on.
Roman starts the engine as I stare out of the window until the hospital disappears behind us.
“It’s Fisher’s,” I whisper as the words fall out of me like I still don’t quite believe them.
“Stop saying that,” Roman’s grip tightens on the wheel.
“How am I meant to stop saying it when it’s true?” I turn toward him. “You heard her. It happened when I was with him. How can you just sit there and act like that means nothing?”
“Fae…” he exhales. “I’m not saying it doesn’t mean anything.”
He leans over and squeezes my thigh as rain begins to tap lightly against the windscreen and the wipers drag it away in slow rhythmic sweeps.
“What you went through doesn’t mean nothing to me, Tink. It means everything. I’m going to do whatever I can to help you.”
“How can you be okay with this?” I ask quietly. “How can you sit there and just… decide?”
“Tinkerbell, I didn’t just decide,” he flicks his gaze to me. “I decided a long time ago. The marriage, the babies… for fuck sake, even having a life means nothing if I don’t have it with you.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s steadying himself. “Listen, don’t get mad at me, okay?”
“Okay…” I frown.
“I swapped your birth control pills before you went missing. I’ve wanted a baby with you a lot longer than you realise.”
I choke out a gasp. The only thing I can hear is the rain against the windscreen, the low hum of the engine as the rush of blood pounds in my ears.
“You what?”
His hands tighten on the wheel before easing again.
“You—” The words snag as disbelief chokes them off. “You changed my birth control?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you—” I stop, because I already know the answer. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
“I made it for us.”
“There is no us in that decision,” I snap.
“There was always going to be an us,” he growls.
“Why would you tell me this now?”
“Because you need to know how dedicated I am and have always been to you, Tink.”
I stare at him in horror. And yet beneath it, buried under the anger and the violation and the sheer insanity of what he’s admitting, there’s something worse.
Recognition.
Because no one has ever understood me the way Roman does.
And no one understands him the way I do.
No one has ever looked at the ugliest parts of me and chosen to stay.
No one has ever loved me harder because of them.
No one else would sit here, after hearing that this baby was conceived in violence, and still claim it with that kind of certainty.
And that’s the worst part, that some broken, ruined version of me understands exactly why he did it.
“Say something,” he mutters.
I wipe under my eyes with the heel of my hand and look away, watching the rain blur the world outside into streaks of grey.
“I love you so much, Tink,” his voice cracks. “You can be mad… just don’t leave me. Please.”
“Ro…” I exhale as the fight drains out of me. “I’m not leaving. I’m just… processing.”
“Okay,” he nods as he clears his throat, “I can deal with processing.”
Roman leans over and flicks on the radio.
‘Unconditional by Freya Ridings’ fills the speakers.
I let my head rest back against the seat and my hand drifts back to my stomach.
Roman’s hand follows, settling over mine, and we stay like that for the rest of the drive, both of us holding onto the small life that is growing inside of me.
God, he’s infuriating.
I know his need to control the outcome of everything, so I shouldn’t be surprised he tried to get me pregnant.
But I am. Out of everything I thought he might do, that wasn’t even on my radar.
He builds himself on logic and precision, but this…
this isn’t logical. This is him reaching for control where there isn’t any left to take.
When the truth about this baby, our baby, finally lands, when all the control he’s clung to slips through his fingers and there’s nothing left to hold onto… will he still be Roman?
Or will he have been broken by my own horror story one too many times.