Chapter 1
JACKIE
One year ago
Isat on the edge of the bathtub while Timothy stared down at me with his squinty brown eyes, waiting anxiously to see what the blue and white stick in my hand displayed.
The results from our most recent attempt to get pregnant.
He was wringing his hands in front of him as if he was the only one on edge about this whole situation.
We’ve been trying for four years to conceive with no fucking luck.
It’s gotten to the point where I feel like we only have sex when it’s time to try to put a baby in me.
Sex has become a job, a chore. It’s no longer truly intimate or affectionate.
There have been times that after he’s come inside me and rolled away, I’ve had to hold back tears.
I’d lain there on my back with my knees drawn up to my chest, in the dark, blinking back the moisture in my eyes.
And Timothy never noticed. Or if he did, he didn’t seem to care.
“Well, what’s it say?” he asked with an impatient tone in his voice as the timer on my phone rang out.
Three minutes can change a life. I looked down at that stick in my hand and ran my fingers through my long, brown locks.
My pulse spiked as I turned my hazel gaze to his brown one, torn about the results.
“It’s…it’s negative. Again.” I breathed out. Timothy bent his head back and looked up at the ceiling with a huff then just stormed out of the bathroom connected to our bedroom, leaving me there to sort out my own feelings about yet another failure. Because that’s exactly what this was. A failure.
When we first began struggling to conceive, my doctor told us that my having polycystic ovarian syndrome, PCOS, would inevitably cause obstacles to parenthood, so we were prepared.
More time and money down the drain, and fertility treatments weren’t cheap.
But I’d come to the realization that my mental wellbeing was far more important.
This process had taken a toll on me. Medical appointments, watching our finances just to make sure we had enough money for the essentials but also for what it took to endure the feeling of each negative pregnancy test I took.
I toss the blue and white stick in the trash can next to the toilet and brush my sweaty hands on the sides of my thighs.
The soft fabric of my black leggings was comforting in the moment, along with a breathing technique I learned from my therapist, in moments of anxiety, Dr. Potter.
Those moments were coming more and more these days as the stress mounted.
I tucked my hair behind my right ear, taking one last deep breath to exit our bathroom and gage Timothy’s mood. I knew it wouldn’t be a happy one, but I worried he would continue to blame my broken reproductive system.
I caught up with him sitting on the balcony of our one-bedroom apartment, smoking a cigarette, something I abhorred. Timothy knew I had a sensitivity to smoke, so this spot was his sanctuary when he used the disgusting nicotine to calm himself.
“I can’t do this anymore.” He murmured, head hanging low.
“I was just think–“I started, but was cut off abruptly.
“I want a divorce.” He blurted out, mashing his half-smoked cigarette on the arm of the chair to put it out and flicking it over the side of the railing.
“Wait, what?” That was not the reaction I was expecting, but at the same time, I wasn’t feeling the heartbreak I probably should be after hearing my husband of seven years, partner of fifteen, wanted to part ways, permanently.
I was a little hurt yes, and disappointed, but conversely, this strange sense of freedom overwhelmed me.
Like I’d been liberated from this prison of a marriage.
Some of the tension left my body, and the headache that was starting to form retreated incrementally.
Without so much as a response, I slid the balcony door closed and retrieved my phone from the counter of the sink in the bathroom. I dialed Steph, my little sister.
“Hey sissy, what’s up?” She greeted me with the background noise making it apparent she wasn’t home, but at the bowling alley. I could hear laughs and shouting, along with the heavy bowling balls knocking pins down, one after the other.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” I asked as I went to our walk-in closet and grabbed a suitcase, throwing some clothes in it to last me a few days.
“It’s fine! I’m just out bowling with some friends.
” She chirped back. Of the two of us, I was the grumpy one, and she was the ray of sunshine.
Well, maybe not grumpy, but easily less prone to extroversion.
Her smile never wavered, but I imagined being “on” all the time was exhausting. I know it would be for me.
“I was hoping I could crash at your house for a few days. I’ll explain later.” Seconds later the call switches to video and her cherub-round face with the same hazel eyes as mine appears on the screen.
“Explain now. I’ll go outside for privacy.
” She may be younger and spunkier, but she was also bossier.
It tickled me sometimes, but that was just her personality.
She exited the bowling alley out onto the sidewalk, the background showing a parking lot full of vehicles and shrubbery at its edges.
It wasn’t much quieter, what with traffic nearby, but at least nobody could hear the shame in what I was about to tell her.
I stopped packing for a moment and sat down on the floor in the closet after closing its door, hoping for some privacy of my own.
“You know I took another test today, right? Well, once again, the treatments didn’t work. Steph, I feel like an utter failure. My body won’t get in line with what I want, or at least what I thought I wanted.”
“What did that dick of a husband say? Tell me he didn’t lay blame on you, yet again. If he did, I’m going to personally give him a vasectomy, much as I’d rather not see his—well, just tell me.” She’s never liked Timothy, and that feeling was mutual for him.
“He stormed off, and when I found him smoking on the balcony, he told me he couldn't do this anymore and wanted a divorce. I thought he was just going to say he didn’t want to try anymore, which I would’ve been more than okay with.
I’m so damn tired, sis.” I’m trying my best not to cry, but it’s not working.
“God, I can’t fucking stand him, but you know what, this is probably for the best. He’s always been awful to you. But you don’t want to hear that. I’m sorry. How can I help?”
“Hence my question about coming to stay with you. I’ve started packing already. But if you’re out, I don’t want to bother you.” I said tentatively.
“Jackie, please. You know I’ll always be there for you.
You know where the spare key is. Be safe and text me when you get settled in at my place.
I just got here so it’ll be a little while, but I promise I won’t stay out too long.
Want me to bring you something greasy and delicious from their menu?
Maybe some bacon cheese fries? I know those are a favorite of yours. ”
I nodded fervently while the tears kept coming, and my shirt was soaked from catching them.
“You’re the absolute best, Stephy. I can’t thank you enough.
” I wiped the last of my tears, got up off the uncomfortable carpeted floor, and grabbed the full suitcase.
I then retrieved a small tote and threw in toiletries.
Hauling everything, purse included, through the apartment like a bag lady, I flipped Timothy the middle finger, which he of course couldn’t see because he’d lit yet another nasty ass cigarette.
When I got to my sister’s apartment, I used the spare key to enter, then went straight to her guest room and threw my luggage to the floor. Throwing myself face down onto the queen-sized mattress covered in the softest comforter ever, I moaned and groaned in frustration.
The exhaustion of the evening had just started to lull me to sleep when I heard knocking on the front door.
Praying it wasn’t Timothy, I hauled my lethargic body up off the bed and made my way down the hallway.
I peered through the peephole and saw my parents standing just outside patiently waiting.
Dad looked a little emotional, but Mom looked determined and fierce.
I flicked the deadbolt to the “unlock” position and turned the doorknob to face the shame I was likely to feel at what they had to say to tonight’s events.
“Hey, Pumpkin,” my dad held his arms wide for a comforting embrace. I was closer to him than I was with Mom, but we still had a good relationship. I was a daddy’s girl through and through, though.
“Hey, Daddy, Mom.” I left my dad’s arms and opened the door wider for them to enter Steph’s apartment.
“Don’t be upset. Steph called us and said we should come and talk to you. She also mentioned she’s on her way home.”
“So, she didn’t tell you what happened?” My voice quivered with emotion, realizing I’d have to rehash everything.
“No, dear. She said it was your story to tell,” my mom replied.
The three of us settled in the living room, and once Steph walked through the door, everything just spilled out, including tears.
Nobody interrupted but listened respectfully and gave me space to experience whatever feelings I needed to in that moment.
They understood I was grieving a marriage but also celebrating the return of my autonomy.
Present day