13. Despair
Chapter 13
Despair
Lila
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
I lie in bed, counting along with the alarm clock that sits on my nightstand, as the seconds tick past slowly.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
The seconds will morph into minutes, then hours and days.
I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here. Days? Weeks? I’m not sure. It’s all a blur, and at this point, time is the last thing I care about. Unfortunately, it’s all I have.
Seemingly endless amounts of time. Except for the one thing that matters most.
I was supposed to have time to have babies, and watch my children grow up. I was supposed to have late-night baking sessions with my girls, filled with giggles and endless gossiping about which boys they liked, and being nosy with my boys about which girls they thought were pretty.
I would introduce them to all the musical classics—not whatever this generation is into, and we would twirl around the kitchen while we made dinner on busy nights to Michael Bublé’s sway. I’d pass on all the lessons I’d learned from my parents. My boys would be the kind of gentlemen who held the doors open for ladies and brought them flowers because soft love was all they’d ever known. My girls would be loving women, because that’s the life they would have been exposed to and they would settle for nothing less.
I was supposed to give them a childhood just like I’d had, watching both my parents who were so full of love for each other.
Now, all of that has been taken away. I should have listened to Dr. Vincent all the years he’s been trying to get me to think of my fertility, and even consider freezing my eggs. I just never thought for even a second that there was a possibility that I would not be able to have kids.
What woman does? It’s just supposed to happen.
A whimper slips past my dry, cracked lips. Then an animalistic sound, something between a growl and a sob, comes from somewhere deep inside of me. I clutch at my chest, struggling to breathe through the pain that is tearing through my body. My heart contracts tightly in my chest, sending little spasms of pain that tear through me, shooting from my chest down to my feet.
I lie there, gasping for breath, my lungs feeling too heavy, like they’re corroded with steel. The tears stream down my face as I bite my fist to muffle the sounds. From whom, I have no idea. From myself?
For a second, I contemplate letting go. Why am I even trying to breathe when everything I need breath for is gone?
At least I’d finally get some peace. Some relief from the voices in my head that seem to have no end to the torture.
The small chandelier that hangs above my bed starts to blur, and my chest is burning. Just when my eyes start to slither shut, an image flashes behind my closed eyelids. My dad holding my mom, twirling her around our small kitchen. Her soft laughter seems to echo, both their eyes sparkling as they seemingly stare into each other’s souls. I remember that day. I would have been around seven. It was my first conscious understanding of love.
The day I knew that was exactly what I wanted for myself.
With a sharp gasp, I take in a lungful of air, my eyes flying open. I jerk, pulling my body up into a sitting position. Heart thumping violently in my chest, I take in huge gulps of air, eyes looking like a wild animal’s.
When Seth cheated on me all those years ago, I thought I had felt heartbreak. But this…this is on a different level.
This is just as much a physical pain as it is emotional.
The constant throbbing in my chest never seems to go away. I wonder if we’re born with a finite number of heartbeats.
If so, I’ve used up a big portion of mine.
I want to move, but every joint in my body feels like it’s set in stone. I should talk to Sue, to my family, but I can’t bring myself to tell them. Not yet.
How can I tell them that all the years of waiting to make sure I found the right man have made me run out of time?
That I can no longer bear my own children.
I don’t think I could bear the look of pity that would follow. It would be my breaking point from which there would be no return.
As much as they would try, there’s no way they could understand this soul-destroying reality.
No one can.
So instead, I sit there in silence, my hand still flat against my chest as I will my breathing to return back to normal.
Infertile.
That word seems to mock me.
The pity I saw in Dr. Saint’s eyes made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to believe any of it. I couldn’t.
So I ran, and I hid.
I’m still hiding.
My phone didn’t stop ringing those first couple of days. Dr. Vincent and Dr. Saint must have left me a hundred voicemails, but I couldn’t bring myself to listen to any of them. I already know what they’re going to say. My life is not over. Not being able to have kids does not change who I am.
They’re wrong though. It is in fact the end of my life as I know it.
My phone starts ringing again. Katie’s name flashes across the screen. I stare at it, contemplating whether to answer. I’ve ignored her last five calls, and I know she must be worried sick because I’ve never not responded to her calls.
Plus, I can’t let everything I’ve worked so hard to build go down the drain. Work is the only thing I have left now.
“Hi, Katie,” I say as soon as I pick up the call. My voice is dry and scratchy, sounding foreign even to my own ears.
“Oh my God, Lila! Are you okay? I must’ve called you a hundred times in the last couple of days. You haven’t been picking up. I was just about to drive over to your house and see what’s going—”
“No, no, don’t do that. I’m okay.” I cut her off quickly.
“Are you sure? Because you don’t sound so good,” she says suspiciously. I can picture the crease in her brows now. “It’s not like you to not return my calls.”
“Yeah. I’ve just been a little under the weather,” I respond, clearing my throat.
“Do you need to see a doctor? I can come get you and take you to the hospital if—”
“No, Katie, it’s just a cold,” I lie through gritted teeth.
“Are you sure? I’ve never known you to get colds,” she says, clearly not buying a word I just said.
“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Did you call for something specific, Katie?”
“Oh, um—last time we spoke you asked me to confirm with the florist when you could come see the order?”
Shit. I completely forgot about that.
“Yes, can you give me a couple more days to get better?”
“Yeah, sure, but—”
“It’ll just be a couple more days, and then I’ll be back. Think you can hold things down for me? Make sure the project is going smoothly?” I ask.
“Yes. As long as you promise me that you’re going to take care of yourself and let me know if you need help,” she says softly.
My bottom lip trembles, a sob threatening to break out.
I inhale deeply, forcing my voice to stay stoic.
“Thank you, Katie. I will,” I lie.
“Okay. Also, your friend Sue has been calling me. Apparently, she hasn’t been able to get ahold of you either and thought I might know something. You should talk to her. She sounded worried,” Katie says.
“Yeah, I’ll give her a call right now. Thank you, Katie.”
“You’re welcome. Talk to you soon.”
Sue. I’ve been so caught up in my own problems that I forgot about her.
I swipe through my contacts, finally dialing hers.
“You better have a damn good explanation of why you haven’t answered my calls these past couple of days,” she says accusingly as soon as she picks up the phone.
For the first time since leaving the hospital, I crack a small smile.