CHAPTER SIX #9
Amanda laughed hard enough that she had to stop herself, pressing a hand lightly against her stomach as a contraction quietly tightened across it. Her smile faded for only a moment. Michael noticed immediately.
"You okay?"
She took a slow breath.
"Mhm."
He waited. The tightening eased just as quietly as it had arrived. She looked back at him.
"See?" "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
He reached over, gently brushing a thumb across her hand. "I just hate watching you hurt."
"I know."
She intertwined her fingers with his.
"It's not that bad yet."
He nodded, though concern still lingered in his eyes. For a while they simply enjoyed their ice cream. A little girl ran past, chasing bubbles while her father laughed behind her. Across the street, families wandered through the park beneath towering oak trees. Amanda watched them.
"It looks peaceful over there."
Michael followed her gaze.
"You want to go?"
She nodded.
"I think I'd like one more quiet afternoon before everything changes." He smiled.
"Then let's make it count."
She finished the last bite of her cone and carefully stood. Another contraction made her pause for a few steady breaths, her hand resting against the edge of the bench. Michael was beside her before she even looked up.
"Need another minute?"
She shook her head with a reassuring smile.
"No."
"You sure?" "I'm sure."
Michael smiled. Then stood, offering her his hand.
"One last adventure before parenthood?"
Amanda slipped her hand into his.
"One last adventure."
Together they crossed toward the park, walking a little slower than usual, savoring the sunshine, the laughter in the distance, and the calm before the beautiful chaos that was waiting just around the corner.
Together... The park had once been Melissa’s favorite place.
Months ago, before the accident, she and John had spent entire afternoons there stretched across the grass beneath the trees.
They would bring cheap sandwiches from the corner deli, share a bottle of lemonade, and talk about the life they planned to build together.
A house. A wedding. Children. Back then, the sound of laughter drifting from the playground had made Melissa smile. Now it followed her everywhere.
She sat stiffly on the edge of a wooden bench, her hands tucked beneath her thighs as though she no longer trusted them to remain still.
The lateafternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting warm patches of light across the walking path.
It was a beautiful day. Melissa hated it for that.
A little boy ran past them carrying a bright red kite, his father jogging behind him while pretending he could not keep up.
The child squealed. Melissa’s eyes followed them until they disappeared across the field. John watched her from the opposite end of the bench. She had barely spoken since they left the house.
That was becoming normal. Some days, she cried until she could not breathe. Others, she seemed unable to feel anything at all. Today appeared to be one of the quiet days. Those frightened him more.
“You cold?” he asked.
Melissa shook her head. John glanced at the cardigan wrapped tightly around her body despite the warmth.
“You sure?”
“I’m fine.”
Her voice was distant. Automatic. The same answer she gave whenever he asked if she had eaten. If she had slept. If she wanted to talk. John leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees.
“We don’t have to stay.”
“You wanted me to get out of the house.”
“I thought the air might help.”
Melissa looked around the park.
“Do I look helped?” John lowered his gaze.
“No.”
A family passed in front of them. A woman pushed a stroller while her husband walked beside her, carrying a sleeping toddler against his shoulder.
The toddler’s small hand rested against the back of his father’s neck.
Melissa stared. The mother stopped to adjust the blanket tucked around the baby in the stroller.
Her husband leaned over and kissed her forehead. Something changed in Melissa’s face. Not anger. Not yet. It was a hollowing. As though the sight had reached into her and removed something else. John shifted closer.
“Mel.”
She blinked but did not look at him.
“They don’t even know.”
“Know what?”
“How lucky they are.”
Her voice was barely louder than the breeze moving through the trees. “They probably complain all the time.”
John studied her profile.
“Everyone complains sometimes.”
“They probably complain about being tired. About the baby crying. About never getting a moment alone.”
She swallowed.
“They probably say they miss their old lives.”
The family continued down the path, unaware that Melissa was watching them.
“I would give anything for that life.” “I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
John flinched. Melissa finally looked at him. Her eyes were tired, the skin beneath them faintly dark despite the makeup she had applied that morning.
“You can still become a father.”
“Not without you.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is to me.”
“You could leave.”
His expression hardened.
“Don’t.”
“You could marry someone else.”
“Melissa.”
“Someone normal.”
“Stop.”
“Someone who can give you children without making you sit through appointments and interviews and evaluations just so strangers can decide whether she deserves to be a mother.”
John turned toward her fully.
“This is not your fault.”
A humorless smile touched her lips.
“The doctor said that too.”
“Because it’s true.”
“And the adoption agency said we were not emotionally prepared.” Her voice sharpened.
“Apparently, wanting a child too much makes you unfit to have one.” “That isn’t what they said.”
“It’s what they meant.”
“They said we needed more time.”
“How much time?”
Melissa faced him now.
“How many months am I supposed to wait before I’m considered stable enough to love a child?”
John lowered his voice.
“They were concerned about what you’ve been through.”
“So was I supposed to lie?”
“No.”
“I answered their questions.”
“I know.”
“I told them the truth.”
“I know.”
“I told them I was sad.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“I told them some days were harder than others. I told them I still wake up thinking I’m pregnant, even though I’ve never been pregnant.”
John’s throat tightened. Melissa’s gaze dropped to her lap.
“For a few seconds, before I’m completely awake, I forget.” Her voice softened. “I put my hand on my stomach.”
She slowly placed one palm over her abdomen.
“And then I remember there will never be anything there.” John reached for her. She pulled away before he could touch her.
“They wanted honesty,” she said. “I gave them honesty, and they used it against me.”
“They didn’t deny us forever.”
“They denied us now.”
“We can appeal.”
“We already appealed.”
“We can apply somewhere else.”
“And tell the same story?”
Her eyes met his again.
“The accident. The infertility. The counseling. The medication. The nightmares.”
She gave a small, broken laugh.
“I sound dangerous when they put it all on paper.”
“You are not dangerous.”
“They looked at me like I was.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“You weren’t watching them.”
“I was sitting right beside you.”
“You were watching me.”
John fell silent. Melissa looked away. She was right. Throughout the entire adoption interview, John had barely looked at the social worker. He had watched Melissa’s hands twist together in her lap.
Watched her smile too brightly whenever children were mentioned. Watched panic flash through her eyes when they asked how she handled disappointment. He had known she was unraveling. He simply had not known how to stop it. A child cried near the playground.
Melissa’s shoulders tensed. The cry grew louder. A mother quickly lifted the little girl into her arms, soothing her while checking one scraped knee. Melissa pressed her lips together. John noticed the way her breathing changed.
“Look at me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Melissa.”
She stood abruptly.
“I said I’m fine.”
Several people glanced toward them. Melissa noticed and immediately folded her arms across herself. Her face reddened. John rose more slowly.
“Let’s walk.”
“I don’t want to walk.”
“Then we’ll go home.”
“I don’t want to go home either.”
“Okay.”
His calmness only seemed to agitate her further.
“Stop saying okay.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what you need.” “I don’t know!”
Her voice cracked across the open space between them. A nearby couple looked over. John stepped closer, blocking Melissa from their view as much as he could. She stared at the ground.
“I don’t know,” she repeated, quieter now.
John reached toward her again. This time, she allowed him to take her hands. Her fingers were cold.
“I don’t know how to make this stop,” she whispered.
His grip tightened.
“The sadness?”
“All of it.”
She lifted her eyes.
“The thinking.”
John remained still. Melissa’s gaze drifted toward the playground.
“I look at them, and all I can think about is how easy it was for everyone else.”
“It isn’t easy for everyone.”
“But they have them.”
Her expression twisted.
“They have children.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“And I don’t.”
John brushed it away with his thumb.
“We can still have a family.”
“How?” “We keep trying.”
“For what?”
“Another agency. A surrogate. Whatever options the specialist gave us.” Melissa shook her head.
“The surrogate costs more money than we’ll ever have.”
“Baby, I have money.”
“How much?”
“As much as you would ever need”
“And what happens when the doctors say they can’t retrieve anything viable from me?”
“We don’t know that they will.”
“They always find a new way to tell me no.”
Her voice dropped.
“The first doctor said I couldn’t carry a baby.”
John’s chest tightened.
“The adoption agency said I shouldn’t raise one.”
“They did not say that.”
“That is what it felt like.”
Melissa pulled her hands from his and sat back down. John remained standing for a moment before lowering himself beside her. The silence returned. On the far side of the park, someone started singing “Happy Birthday.”