Chapter 1 #2
When I went to the kitchen, Lisa was already there, smiling over a pot of herbal tea. She was wearing one of Ryan’s oversized shirts—the navy one with the faded logo from his college rowing team.
I almost asked her why, but instead I just poured myself coffee and pretended not to notice.
“Sleep okay?” she asked, all sweet innocence.
“Yeah,” I lied.
She looked at me over the rim of her mug, eyes glittering. “Today’s a good day, Vivian. I can feel it.”
I nodded and sat across from her, wishing I could believe it.
Later, I caught Ryan and Lisa in the living room, hunched together over a laptop. When I walked in, they flinched apart. I ignored it. Maybe that’s what survival looked like—learning what not to see.
That night, I fell asleep with my hand on my stomach, whispering a wish into the dark.
A few hours later, I woke up to the sound of footsteps down the hallway.
And for the first time, I wondered whose wish would come true.
Lisa’s intervention started as a wellness campaign and mutated into a full-blown military occupation.
By week three, she’d bought a whiteboard and mapped out my “fertility mission” like the Normandy invasion.
Colored markers for ovulation, “scheduled intimacy,” and vitamin cycles.
My name at the top, next to Ryan’s, connected by a heart and a crude drawing of a sperm.
“You’re up tomorrow,” she announced, tapping the board with a manicured finger. “Prime time. Don’t screw it up by working late.”
I glanced at Ryan, who pretended to be engrossed in the coffee machine.
He’d started working longer hours. At first, it was a couple late nights a week; now, it was three, sometimes four.
I was supposed to believe it was “quarterly reporting season.” I chose to believe it, because the alternative—Ryan not wanting to be around me—hurt way more than I was ready to admit.
“Are you two having trouble connecting?” Lisa asked, voice syrupy but not quite sarcastic. “It’s okay if you are. A lot of couples get performance anxiety when there’s this much pressure.”
I almost spat out my tea. “We’re fine. Sometimes he just needs to focus on work.”
“Work is an excuse,” Lisa said, winking at me like we were in on some secret. “He’s nervous because he wants it as much as you do.” She wrote something on her phone, then shot Ryan a look across the room.
Ryan, to his credit, smiled. “Don’t listen to her. I just have to finish a client proposal by tomorrow.” He turned to me. “But I’ll be home by eight, promise.”
Lisa clapped her hands like a kindergarten teacher. “Excellent! I’ll make dinner, and then you two can have a little fun.”
I groaned. “Why does everything sound like a weird game show now?”
“Because,” she said, dead serious, “you win when you have a baby. That’s the whole point.”
She was right, but I hated how she said it.
By the end of the month, I barely recognized my life.
Lisa coordinated every meal, every supplement, every “Alejandrotic opportunity.” She kept a spreadsheet of my basal temperature, which she updated with the diligence of a NASA engineer.
She left little cards on my pillow—handwritten affirmations about “future mom energy” and “trusting the universe.” There were days I wanted to burn the house down just to take back control of my own uterus.
But I couldn’t argue with results. For the first time in ages, Ryan and I were actually trying again. We talked, sometimes even laughed. There were nights when I believed, for a few brief hours, that our marriage was still worth saving.
Lisa was always there, just out of sight, pushing things along. Sometimes she’d pop into the room at the worst possible moment. “Don’t forget to keep your hips elevated after!” she’d yell through the door, and Ryan would go limp in the span of a heartbeat.
I threatened to kill her, more than once. But she’d just grin and hug me like I was a toddler in need of a nap.
One Tuesday morning, Ryan left before sunrise for “an early client breakfast.” I didn’t see him until almost midnight.
When I asked, “Was it really that late?” he nodded, not meeting my eyes.
Lisa, who’d been waiting up with me, leapt to his defense. “Vivian, he works so hard for you. Can’t you be a little more understanding?”
I flinched. “I’m not accusing—”
“Yeah, you are,” she cut in. “He can’t fix this on his own. You two are supposed to be a team.”
Ryan stood behind her, letting her fight his battle. I felt the cold edge of humiliation slice through me, but I swallowed it down. “Sorry,” I said, to both of them. “I just—never mind.”
Lisa softened. “You’re tired. Let’s do some yoga tomorrow.”
Ryan smiled at her like she’d just handed him a lifeline. He kissed my forehead and went to bed. Lisa followed, giving my shoulder a squeeze before disappearing down the hallway.
I sat alone in the dark, wondering what the hell was happening to my marriage.
The next day, I had to drive into the city for a follow-up with my OB-GYN.
Blood test, ultrasound, the usual parade of humiliation.
Afterward, I stopped at a café by the courthouse for a bagel, still in a daze from the doctor’s words: “Low ovarian reserve, but you’re not out of options.
” I’d heard it before, but it never stopped hurting.
As I stirred my coffee, I saw Alejandro Bellandi. He was coming down the courthouse steps, surrounded by a small entourage. He moved through the crowd with the casual authority of someone used to people getting out of his way. He stopped to talk to a reporter, then caught sight of me in the window.
For a split second, he looked like he recognized me. Then he smiled—small, polite, like a secret between strangers. He said something to his assistant, then stepped inside the café.
He walked straight to my table.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair.
I blinked, not sure if this was real. “Sure.”
He sat, folding his hands in front of him. “You’re Vivian, right? From the gala.”
“Yeah,” I managed. “Sorry, I’m just surprised you remember.”
He shrugged. “I remember everyone I meet. Especially the ones who seem like they’d rather be anywhere else.”
He wasn’t flirting. It was like he was reading my mind and just stating facts.
“I had a rough appointment,” I said, surprised by my own honesty.
He nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.”