Chapter 37 Alessia
“You alright?” Gabriel asks me again, his hand firm on my shoulder as he tucks me closer into his side like he’s trying to protect me from the results.
His warmth is grounding, his presence a steady anchor in the middle of this storm that I’ve been navigating for years now. Except this time is different. This appointment is different. Because I don’t feel alone having him by my side now.
I nod, though my hands betray me, trembling slightly as I clench them into fists in my lap.
“Yeah. I’m okay. Just... you know. Nervous. These appointments always make me nervous.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He cups my chin in his strong, calloused hand, tilting my face up until my eyes meet his. His thumb brushes along my cheek, soft and steady, a touch that reminds me I’m not doing this on my own anymore. That I have someone who will stick by me no matter what the outcome is.
“Hey,” his voice is gentle. “Remember, we don’t have to do any of this. I just want you. I don’t need anything more. We’re already a family, just you and I.”
I swallow hard, nodding, because that’s exactly why I’m here. Why I’m willing to put myself through the painful tests, exams, and the disappointment of possibly not getting answers again.
A second opinion. A new clinic. A fresh start in Hartford instead of the sterile, fluorescent-lit reproductive endocrinology rooms in New York City where I spent years trying, failing, and breaking apart.
Where Brian and I exhausted every option at having a baby—at least that’s what the doctors had told us at the time.
I still hear their voices, clinical and detached. After a full round of IVF, we couldn’t make any viable embryos. I’m so sorry but you have been diagnosed with unexplained infertility.
Sorry didn’t cover it.
I’d spent months preparing for that cycle.
Injecting myself with progesterone oil until my hips became a patchwork of bruises and scar tissue.
Popping tiny blue estrogen pills every morning and night to build up my endometrial lining.
Adjusting my diet. Timing my life around medications, blood draws and invasive procedures that rarely offer pain relief since it’s women’s medicine and men seem to think pain receptors don’t exist if it’s a body part that they don’t have.
And for what? To come up empty? To get multiple eggs but not create any viable embryos? To feel like my body had betrayed me?
I needed a break. And I took one. One that ended up becoming permanent when I found out Brian had been cheating. But now, with Gabriel, I’m ready to try again.
“I know,” I whisper, steadying myself. “But I want to do this. One last shot but this time for us. Together. If it doesn’t work, I’ll walk away. I promise.” I won’t let this break us.
His jaw tightens, like he’s fighting something back, but he nods. “I’ll do whatever you want to do. I’m here for you through it all.”
My chest tightens with emotion as I lean up, pressing my lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. A promise. One I know he’ll keep because he doesn’t like to see me in pain. Mental or physical and I know that this will be it. This is my last attempt.
A nurse steps into the hallway, calling my name, and we rise together. Gabriel’s grip stays firm in mine, his touch an unspoken vow that he’s not going anywhere.
The room is cold and sterile, the same shade of clinical white as every other doctor’s office I’ve sat in, but Gabriel’s presence makes it feel a little less daunting.
I undress then slide onto the edge of the exam table, my legs swinging slightly as I try to focus on my breathing instead of the anxiety that’s tightening inside my chest. After just a few minutes of waiting, the door swings open, and a warm, confident voice fills the space.
“Hi, Alessia. So nice to meet you—I’m Dr. Abrams.”
I offer a nervous smile. “Hello.”
She settles onto a stool, flipping through my chart. “So,” she says, glancing up at me with an empathetic expression. “I reviewed the records that your previous clinic sent over from two years ago. It looks like you’ve been through quite a lot in your journey to become a mother.”
I nod, blowing out a slow breath as Gabriel squeezes my hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against my palm. “I have.”
“And you’re here for a second opinion?”
“Yes. My diagnosis was unexplained infertility. When we did a round of IVF, they retrieved multiple eggs that looked good, but none of the embryos were viable.”
She nods, flipping another page. “I saw that. And I also saw that you’ve had most of the recommended tests and procedures—HSG, AMH, ovarian reserve—all looked beautiful. But there’s one thing I noticed you hadn’t had checked…” She pauses, leveling me with a knowing look. “Your partner.”
My forehead creases. “My… partner?”
She nods. “About 50% of infertility cases we see here at the clinic are related to male factor issues. But for some reason, a lot of clinics still put women through the wringer first. Painful tests, invasive procedures, rounds of medication when the simplest first step should be testing your partner’s sperm. Having them provide a sample.”
We didn’t do that. We did not have Brian’s sperm checked.
She continues, “We check things like motility, mobility and damage. This can greatly impact your chances of conceiving.”
I inhale sharply; Gabriel’s grip tightens on mine. “You’re saying… it’s possible that my ex was the problem all along? That Brian’s sperm could have been the issue this whole time?”
Dr. Abrahms tilts her head, giving me a small, knowing smile. “I’m saying it’s possible that you went through hell for nothing, but we might be wrong. We need to rule out every possible option before we diagnose you, and in my professional opinion, your last clinic failed to do that.”
And just like that, everything I thought I knew shifts.
She closes the folder with a measured nod.
“Alright. Your ultrasound looks good. Your fallopian tubes are open. We’ve confirmed that you ovulate regularly when you’re not on birth control.
And beyond that, you had an excellent response to the medication, producing fifteen eggs.
” She pauses, her gaze flicking between me and Gabriel.
“So, like I said, there might be something else at play, and I’d like to start with the semen analysis.
But…” Her eyes shift more pointedly to Gabriel now.
“I take it this is not your previous partner?”
I shake my head. “No.”
A knowing smile tugs at her lips as she nods. “Well, Alessia, I have what I think is good news… but I don’t want to get your hopes up just yet.”
Too late. My hopes are already through the damn clinic’s roof. Probably floating somewhere past the stratosphere and outside of Brookhaven now because I think I know what she’s going to say.
She leans forward slightly, voice gentle. “If you’re ready to start trying, I’d like you to stop your birth control and—just try. Naturally. For a little.”
I blink. “Just… try?”
No injections? No pills? No endless bloodwork and ultrasounds?
No hormone-fueled meltdowns in the middle of a CVS parking lot because my health insurance denied my doctor’s authorization for progesterone injection needles and suggest I try suppositories instead?
Just… let my body do what it’s supposed to do and see if it works but with Gabriel’s sperm this time?
She nods. “You might be surprised.”
Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I turn to Gabriel, my heart hammering, but his expression is steady. “It’s your call, Aly,” he murmurs, his voice serious. “You know I’ll do whatever you want. And I’d be thrilled to be a dad, but I don’t need this. I only need you.”
My throat tightens. “But… what if it doesn’t work?” The whisper barely makes it past my lips.
The doctor smiles warmly. “Then you come back. We’ll test Gabriel’s semen. We can try another round of IVF if that’s what you want. You’re a perfect candidate for it. We’ll give it another shot—or as many as you need to feel like you’ve given it your all and want to stop.”
I exhale sharply, my mind spinning. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s try naturally.”
She nods, pleased, and snaps the folder shut. “I’ll give you some information on prenatal care and how to prepare your body for pregnancy. And if you try for a few cycles without success, call me back. I’d be happy to see you again and we can come up with a new plan.”
And just like that, the appointment is over.
I leave the office in a haze; my fingers curled around Gabriel’s as we walk to the car silently.
The sun feels too bright. The sky feels too blue.
He opens my door, helps me inside, and the silence between us stretches—thick, electric, charged—as he fires up the truck.
The drive back to Brookhaven is a blur of passing trees and open road, my thoughts racing with each mile we pass.
“Aly,” Gabriel’s voice breaks through to me. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”
I release a slow breath. “Yeah… I’m okay. I think I’m in shock.”
“That was good news, right?”
I nod, still staring out the window like I might be able to see the answer out there somewhere.
“Yeah. Really good.”
I hesitate before turning to him, my mind catching up to a question I don’t know if I’m ready to ask.
“Do you really think that Brian was the problem?”
Gabriel grips the wheel tighter, his jaw shifting slightly. “I don’t know. But with 50/50 odds, I’d say there’s a damn good chance his sperm were the issue.”
“But he got his mistress pregnant.”
He shrugs one shoulder but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Something Rhiannon told me years ago that’s always stuck with me is that the vocal cords and uterus are roughly the same shape and a mirror image.”
Huh…
“She said in her therapy practice, sometimes she sees patients who feel like they don’t have a voice in their relationship, and that has a direct impact on their sex organs.
Maybe it’s possible you felt like you didn’t have a voice in your marriage with Brian, and therefore your body wasn’t receptive to conceiving with him. ”
And holy hell, that’s exactly how it felt being married to him. Like I was always holding back my tongue near the end. Something ignites inside me. I twist in my seat, looking straight at him now.
“Are you hungry? Do you want to stop for food?”
His brows furrow slightly at the sudden shift. “I guess. If you do—”
“No,” I cut him off. Without breaking eye contact, I reach into my purse, pull out my birth control pack, and toss it straight into the tiny trash bin in his car. “I’m not hungry.”
His eyes darken instantly.
“Take me home,” I whisper. “And make love to me. Let’s start trying now.”
He exhales slowly, one hand tightening on the wheel as the other moves to grip my thigh. Then, with a smirk that sends heat flooding through my veins, he presses down on the gas.
“I can do that, sweetheart.” His voice is smooth, controlled. “I can definitely do that.”