Chapter 1 #3
I didn’t know what else to say. There was something about him—calm, patient, like he was trained to wait out any silence.
“Do you have kids?” I asked, immediately regretting it.
He shook his head. “No. Not yet.”
“Don’t,” I said, the word escaping before I could stop it. “It’s a nightmare.”
He smiled, sad and real. “Sometimes the things we want most are the ones that cost us the most to get.”
I let that hang between us, unsure if it was meant to make me feel better or worse.
A text pinged on my phone. Lisa: “Pick up frozen yogurt? Ryan had a hard day.”
I stood, gathering my bag. “Sorry, I have to go.”
He stood, too. “Of course. Good luck, Vivian.”
He watched me as I left. For a second, I wished I could swap lives with someone—anyone—who looked at me the way he did.
That night, Lisa made Ryan and me a “fertility feast” of oysters, dark chocolate, and pomegrViviante seeds. She lit candles, played soft music, and left a bottle of wine on ice.
“This is your night,” she said, squeezing my shoulders. “Just enjoy each other, okay?”
She vanished upstairs, leaving us alone in the dining room.
Ryan seemed nervous. He kept pouring wine, asking me about my day, pretending like he actually cared about the answer. I tried to play along, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was the only one auditioning for a part in this marriage.
After dinner, we went to the bedroom. We did what we were supposed to do. I tried to remember what it was like when we actually wanted each other, before sex became a science project.
Afterward, Ryan rolled over and fell asleep almost instantly.
I lay awake, listening to the silence of the house. At some point, I heard footsteps creaking down the hallway.
I closed my eyes, willing myself not to care.
The next morning, Lisa woke me with coffee and a triumphant smile.
“How was it?” she asked, sitting on the edge of my bed like a puppy.
“Fine,” I said, not meeting her eyes.
She grinned. “You’re going to get pregnant, Vivian. I know it.”
I wanted to believe her, but even my body felt like it was rolling its eyes.
As I got dressed, I heard Lisa laughing in the kitchen. Then, Ryan’s voice—soft, intimate, the way he used to talk to me.
I crept down the hall, pausing at the edge of the kitchen.
They stood close together, sharing a private joke. Lisa reached out and straightened Ryan’s tie, her fingers lingering a moment too long.
I ducked away before they could see me. In the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw what I’d become: a cautionary tale.
Later, I overheard them again in the living room. Ryan said, “She has no idea.”
Lisa giggled. “Of course she doesn’t. She wants it too much.”
He exhaled, long and shaky. “I’m not sure I can keep this up.”
Lisa’s voice went low. “Yes, you can. We just have to wait a little longer.”
I wanted to vomit. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t even make a sound.
When I finally went back to the kitchen, they both looked up, startled.
“Hey, babe,” Ryan said, face blank.
“Morning!” Lisa chirped.
I poured myself coffee and pretended I didn’t notice the electricity sparking between them.
By the end of the week, Lisa had ramped up her fertility coaching to full throttle. She scheduled another “date night” for us, sent me to a massage beforehand, and even arranged for a car service to pick us up from the restaurant.
I wanted to ask her when she became my personal assistant, but I didn’t have the energy. I was a puppet, and she was a master at pulling the strings.
That night, after dinner, Ryan and I did what we were supposed to do. I tried to make it feel real, but it was like playing a song by memory—my body going through the motions, my mind floating somewhere above the room.
I fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted.
I woke up to the sound of the front door closing.
I checked the clock: 2:18 AM.
Down the hallway, the guest suite was dark. I pressed my ear to the door, heart pounding.
I heard Ryan’s voice: “Are you sure?”
Then Lisa: “This is what you wanted, right?”
Silence. Then, the soft creak of bed springs.
I backed away, my whole body numb.
In our bedroom, I curled up on the covers and tried to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. I felt empty, scraped hollow.
The next morning, I stayed in bed as long as I could.
When I finally went to the kitchen, Ryan was gone.
Lisa was at the table, staring at her phone. Her face was pale, eyes wide.
She looked up when she saw me, her smile slow, almost predatory.
“Morning,” she said.
I nodded, poured myself coffee.
She hesitated, then whispered, “Vivian, if you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”
I didn’t answer.
She grinned, a strange light in her eyes.
She reached into her bag, then excused herself, locking the bathroom door behind her.
I heard the rustle of packaging. Then silence. Then a tiny, trembling gasp.
When she came out, she looked at me for a long, loaded moment.
And then, for the first time since she’d arrived, I saw her smile for real.
Holy freaking heck.
It was the smile of someone who’d just won.