Chapter 2
NATE
“We’ll sort everything out, Jenny. Just let us know nearer the time when you want to start maternity leave.” I grip the edge of my desk. This is all we fucking need. The inconvenience of having to find a new illustrator is the least of my worries.
Over Jenny’s shoulder, through the floor-to-ceiling glass partition, my wife strolls into the open-plan studio with Evan’s hand on her lower back. Every muscle in my body wants to go to her. If she’s heard the news, I can only imagine how she’s feeling.
“Is that all right, Nate?” Jenny clutches the scan photo she thrust in my face a few minutes prior.
“Hmm?” I’ve no clue what she just said, but I need to wrap up this conversation as quickly as possible so I can check on my wife.
“Time off for midwife appointments?”
“Of course. Whatever you need. Just let Sheila in HR know.”
Cal, our marketing guy, brings Nora a cup of tea, and she smiles up at him, tucking her brunette hair behind her ear.
I relax my shoulders. There’s something about her smile that lights up my soul, as if I were put on this earth to make her happy. And if I can’t do that anymore, what’s left of us?
I rarely get to see her smile these days. A pain stabs me in the gut. A reminder of everything I can’t give her.
“Is there anything else, Jenny?” I rise from my seat, hoping she’ll do the same.
“No, that’s everything.” She lifts herself from the chair, her hand smoothing over the slight curve of her belly where she’s already showing.
I lead her out of the private office, then search the studio for any sign of Evan, but he must have gone to his meeting.
My wife locks eyes with me through the internal glass partition, and I lift my phone and text her.
Nate: How are you?
She lifts her phone from her desk.
Nora: Fine, you?
Her eyes tell a different story. I want to go over there, scoop her up in my arms, and take her home. But we try to keep things professional when we’re at work.
Nodding, I give her a warm smile, letting her know without words that I’m here if she needs me.
I turn around and march back to my desk, snatch the remote for the blinds, and shut out the studio.
I don’t need the reminder of how I’ve failed her.
A man’s supposed to provide for his wife.
If I can’t give Nora a family, eventually she’ll realise she deserves someone who can.
The leather sighs as I drop back into my office chair and spin to gaze out the window at the busy street below.
The dreary British weather matches my mood.
I rub at the short bristles on my chin. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
There’s nothing more emasculating than not being able to give her a child, but I’m not so proud I can’t put my own feelings aside and explore other options.
She says she’s fine, but there’s sadness in her eyes most days. It crushes me. I always thought running a business would be the thing to send me grey, but the stress of infertility has me sporting the salt-and-pepper look before my time.
We’ve been friends for so long, she can’t hide anything from me.
My happiness depends on hers. Each month, I make her a hot water bottle, bring her pain relievers, and hold her in my arms until she’s cried herself to sleep.
That’s been our life for the last five years.
The first three years of trying weren’t so bad.
We were still full of hope. But as more wrinkles appear around our tired eyes, it’s difficult to see the light.
The bright future we planned in our twenties is now an all-consuming black hole. All our dreams have turned to ash. Our story feels more like a Grimm fairy tale, with no chance of a happy ever after.
I spin my chair back to face my desk with renewed determination.
Breathing heavily through my nostrils, I clench my jaw as my fingers swiftly tap against the keyboard.
I may have failed my wife. But I’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure she gets to experience what it’s like to be a mother.
Because if I don’t fix this, I’ll lose her.
Maybe not today. Maybe not next year. But one day she’ll look at me and see the man who couldn’t give her the life she wanted.
I want that life too, for her belly to swell even if it’s not mine.
I can give her that, at least. She deserves to have all the things.
The sensations of a baby moving in her belly, the mum-to-be spa days, the baby shower, the gender reveal.
And I’ll be there to rub her back when she’s aching, massage her swollen feet, and raise her child as if it’s my own.
It might not have my eyes, but it’ll be a part of her and I’ll be the best damn father that kid could ever have.
It’ll all work out fine.