2. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Elsie
March 6
G od may be a woman, but she fucked up when she decided to make periods a bitch.
Cunt.
After coming off of birth control over two years ago and now four rounds of Intrauterine Insemination (IUI), I know what my symptoms look like.
I’ve always had periods on the heavier side, but even the minor spotting and cramping I experienced last week was a tell-tale sign that my period came and went.
No wonder I wanted to cry.
My past two periods are a reminder that my last round of IUI didn’t work.
I’m sitting in the waiting room of my OBGYN’s office, walls covered in photos of happy mothers with their children.
Every time I go to the office, all the photos on the walls make me think of the little mini-me I want to have. I imagine their bright blue eyes and auburn hair mirroring my own. Hopefully, they have my smile or my nose. Though, they are welcome to be taller than my 4’ 11” curvy frame.
For now, I’m waiting to be taken back for yet another appointment that will disappoint me. I already know I’m going to pee in a cup and have them confirm what I already know in my broken heart.
I’m not pregnant.
Which feels devastating to admit after wanting a child of my own for so long.
Thus far, I’ve planned my life meticulously, but I never thought to plan for a relationship, much less a baby.
Then, two years ago, I reached the same age as when my mother had me, and it became the only thing I could think about.
Previously, my life centered around work. Long days and sleepless nights are what helped me conquer my little corner of the Tech market in Texas.
Being a woman in tech is hard enough, but adding a passion for ocean conservation will suddenly put you in the oil and gas world.
I left my job as a researcher at twenty-four. For the past ten years, I’ve worked my ass off to build up Coral Crude, the leading consulting and technology resource for oil companies looking to offset their environmental impact by building up coral reefs around their offshore oil platforms.
In college, I studied at the Flower Garden Banks National Marine Sanctuary, which lies 80-125 miles off the Texas and Louisiana coastlines .
The Flower Garden is proof of the Gulf’s capacity to house thriving coral reefs. Reefs protect coastlines, host hundreds of marine species, and aid in the development of treatments for cancer, arthritis, and viruses.
After only a few years working as a researcher, I knew there was a need and a market for resources that energy companies looking to offset their environmental impact on the Gulf.
Thus, Coral Crude was born.
It’s been my baby ever since.
But something changed around my 32nd birthday that kicked my biological clock into overdrive.
Suddenly, my focus shifted from conservation to conception.
The desire to start a family consumed me, and I started consulting with my doctor about options for entering “My Motherhood Era.”
Family has always been a tricky subject for me.
My father and I went no-contact nearly four years ago after years of trying to have a relationship with him as an adult. But the truth is, he was never the parent I needed him to be, even as a child. He was gone for work more than he was home. Between the neglect and cruelty toward me, our relationship was always superficial.
In many ways, it was purely business. I served a purpose for him. I gave him the public persona he wanted everyone to see him for. In return, I was given food, shelter, and an education. But I was never his daughter.
He never showed me love .
After beginning to unravel all of the trauma he caused with my therapist, I realized it was healthier for me to go through my life on my own than with him in it .
Parenthood is no different.
Doing this whole motherhood thing alone was the only way I ever saw myself having a family.
So, I poured over hundreds of records for sperm donors, and once I found a suitable donor, I started rounds of IUI and fertility treatments.
Two years in, my hope is waning.
I am waiting for the news from my doctor today, and the disappointment to follow will surely crush me.
The patient room the nurse led me into is painted a plain, soft eggshell color, creating a calm and neutral environment. However, it’s still just like any other doctor’s office, with its familiar medical equipment and sterile atmosphere. The most notable difference is the personal touch added by the blown-up photos of patients with their babies and children, which are proudly displayed alongside the medical posters that hang around the office. These posters depict various aspects of women’s health, such as prenatal care, childbirth, contraception, and reproductive health, offering educational information while reinforcing the clinic’s focus on caring for both mother and child.
Since being guided into the room, I’ve been scrolling through my endless emails, all of which have already been culled by my assistant, Oliver.
I’m trying to distract myself with work from the dread forming in my chest when my doctor knocks on the door.
“Ms. Snow. How are you doing today?” Dr. Taylor says as she enters the room.
“Fine,” I answer shortly .
“Alrighty. Well, let’s just dive in, shall we?” She glances down at my patient chart with a blank face. “I know we’ve been working towards building up your family.”
I nod curtly, bracing myself for the news I know is coming.
“Well, I believe congratulations are in order then.” The doctor says with a smile on her lips. “You’re pregnant.”
She pats me on the knee before returning to my chart and discussing the information I should be paying attention to.
I wish I could absorb anything that she’s saying right now. Instead, all I can think about is those words.
You’re pregnant .
I’m having a baby.
A baby .
My baby.
I’m going to be a mom.
But… fuck .
I know my period came and went. Twice.
“Excuse me,” I say, interrupting the doctor mid-sentence. “My last period was last week, and my cycle also came the month before. How can I be pregnant?”
“You’ve been tracking your ovulation cycles, correct?” She asks.
“Of course.” I snap a little too curtly. “And we did my last round of IUI during that window two months ago.” I sigh. “I’ve had two periods since then. They came and went, though my most recent one was a little late.”
“Well, what has your sex life looked like recently? If I recall correctly, you haven’t been partnered during the time we worked together. Has that changed?” She asks, head tilting in curiosity before continuing. “With the fertility treatments, your body would be more receptive to any additional introductions of semen around your ovulation periods.”
“I haven’t...” I stop.
Shit.
The weekend of Selene’s engagement party .
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I only remember that night through a haze of hormones, but I definitely had sex at The Playground Club that weekend.
The Playground is a membership club that caters to swingers and kinksters.
It’s a sex club.
Horny doesn’t begin to explain how needy I was that weekend.
How was I supposed to say no when he offered his dick up on a silver platter?
I was sober, with no alcohol or drugs in my system, but by the end of the night, I was drunk and high on orgasms. He fucked me for hours, and I came enough times to where I nearly blacked out, but he didn’t stop fucking me.
I wanted it.
Desperately .
Almost as desperately as I’ve been wanting a baby.
But that night, I’d been feeling low after having just had my period recently. I knew my body had failed at its job once again. So, I went for it and just tried to enjoy the night along with my friends.
But this wasn’t the plan.
The possibility that my dreams have come true because of a one-night stand?
That doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare .
Because now there’s a second parent involved. One who hasn’t signed away rights to the child growing in my womb.
Which is a problem I’m not ready to deal with.
I’m wringing my hands, trying to cling to the last shred of sanity that remains, when the doctor’s voice shakes me from my panic. “How about we schedule you to come back next week to discuss things more? In the meantime, here are some resources for you to look over.”
Before she leaves, she hands me a stack of papers and pamphlets, but I only give them a quick glance before tossing them to the side.
Then I reach for my phone. I scroll back through my photos before the doctor even closes the door to the room.
“Where are they?” I ask, my heart racing a million miles a minute. “Fuck!”
“Fuck!” I repeat under my breath when I still can’t find them after a few minutes, and the nurse knocks on the door to check on me, signaling I should leave soon.
I drop back onto the examination table and stare at the ceiling until my vision crosses. My hand comes to rest on my stomach, and underneath the mounting panic, a small flutter of excitement forms in my chest.
I’m having a baby.
My baby.
No matter the other half of the DNA, this child is mine .