CHAPTER SIX #5
Dr. Bennett took her seat behind the desk and placed the tablet beside the folder.
“How have you been feeling since your last appointment?” “Fine, mostly.”
“Any new pain or bleeding?”
“No.”
“And physically? Any changes?”
Melissa shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Dr. Bennett nodded and made a brief note. John watched every movement of her pen. The doctor closed the folder. That small sound seemed impossibly loud.
“I’ve reviewed the results from all of your testing,” she began. “That includes your bloodwork, hormone levels, pelvic imaging, ultrasound findings, and the records we received regarding the injuries and emergency surgery following your accident.”
Melissa’s fingers tightened around John’s.
“Okay.”
“We also repeated several portions of the testing because I wanted to be certain that what we were seeing was consistent.”
Melissa nodded quickly.
“And?”
Dr. Bennett’s expression softened.
“The results were consistent.”
For one fleeting second, Melissa smiled. “So you know what’s wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Can it be fixed?”
The doctor paused. Melissa’s smile slowly disappeared. Dr. Bennett folded her hands on top of the desk.
“Melissa, the accident caused extensive trauma to your reproductive system. Although your surgical team was able to save your life, the damage was severe.”
Melissa remained perfectly still. The doctor continued in the same quiet, measured tone.
“The testing shows that the injuries, combined with the surgical complications that followed, permanently affected your ability to become pregnant and safely carry a child.”
Melissa blinked. Her face showed no immediate reaction, as though the words had reached her but had not yet arranged themselves into something she could understand. Dr. Bennett held her gaze.
“After completing and reviewing the extensive testing, we have determined that you are infertile.”
Silence filled the office. Melissa stared at the doctor. John felt her fingers loosen inside his hand.
“I’m sorry,” Melissa said. “What?”
Dr. Bennett leaned forward slightly.
“The damage is permanent.”
“No, I heard that part.”
Melissa gave a small, nervous laugh. It sounded painfully out of place. “I just don’t understand what you mean by infertile.”
The doctor allowed her a moment before answering.
“It means you will not be able to conceive and carry a pregnancy.” Melissa’s lips parted.
No sound came. She looked toward the folder on the desk, then back at Dr. Bennett.
“But I’m only twenty.”
“I know.”
“I’m healthy.”
“The diagnosis is not because of your age or anything you did. It is the result of the injuries from the accident.”
Melissa shook her head.
“Then there must be a surgery.”
Dr. Bennett’s eyes filled with sympathy.
“The surgeons repaired everything they safely could at the time.” “But that was an emergency surgery. This would be different.” “I understand why you’re asking.”
“There are specialists who do reconstructive procedures, aren’t there?” “In certain circumstances, yes.”
“So I could see one.”
“The damage in your case is too extensive.”
Melissa’s breathing changed. It became shallow and quick.
“What about medication?”
“Medication cannot reverse structural damage.”
“Hormone treatments?”
“Your hormone levels are not the primary problem.”
“IVF?” The question came so quickly that the doctor barely had time to respond.
“IVF helps with certain causes of infertility,” Dr. Bennett explained gently. “But it cannot repair the damage necessary for you to safely carry a pregnancy.”
Melissa pulled her hand from John’s and pressed both palms against her knees.
“What if we try anyway?”
“Melissa—”
“What if the doctors are wrong?”
“We repeated the tests to reduce that possibility.”
“But tests can be wrong.”
“Individual tests can sometimes be unclear. That is why we performed several different evaluations. Unfortunately, they all reached the same conclusion.”
Melissa stared at her.
“There has to be something.”
Her voice trembled. Dr. Bennett remained quiet.
“There has to be,” Melissa repeated. “You can’t just tell someone they can’t have children and then say there’s nothing anyone can do.”
“I wish I had another answer for you.”
“Send my results somewhere else.”
“We can absolutely arrange a second opinion.”
“Then do that.”
“I will.”
“And a third.”
“If that is what you need, we can help you obtain one.” Melissa nodded rapidly, clinging to the offer.
“Good. Because this isn’t right.”
John turned toward her.
“Mel…”
“No.”
She looked at him, her eyes already shining.
“No, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you believe her.”
His chest tightened.
“I’m just listening.”
“Well, she’s wrong.”
Dr. Bennett spoke carefully.
“Melissa, seeking another opinion is completely reasonable. You deserve to feel certain before deciding how to move forward. But I also don’t want to give you false hope.”
Melissa looked back at her. The tears gathering in her eyes finally spilled over.
“So there’s no chance?”
The doctor’s voice softened further.
“Not of carrying a pregnancy.”
Melissa flinched. It was a small movement, but John felt it beside him. She lowered her gaze to her abdomen. Her hand moved toward it instinctively, fingers resting over the fabric of her dress.
“I don’t feel different.”
The words were barely audible. Dr. Bennett waited.
“I woke up after the accident, and everyone kept saying I was lucky.” Melissa’s mouth trembled.
“They said I survived. They said I was healing.”
John’s throat closed.
“They told me everything was going to be okay.”
She turned toward him.
“You told me everything was okay.”
The accusation was not present in her voice. Not yet. There was only confusion. John forced himself to meet her eyes.
“I thought it would be.”
The lie came quietly. Easily. That frightened him. Melissa turned back toward the doctor.
“Will I still have periods?”
“Your cycle may be irregular because of the trauma and the procedures you underwent. We can continue monitoring your hormone levels and overall health.”
“But a period means my body is working.”
“It means certain portions of your reproductive cycle may still be functioning. It does not necessarily mean your body can sustain a pregnancy.”
Melissa wiped at her face with the heel of her palm.
“What if I did become pregnant somehow?”
Dr. Bennett paused before answering.
“Based on your injuries, attempting to carry a pregnancy would be medically unsafe. It could result in severe complications and place your life at risk.”
John’s head snapped toward the doctor. Melissa went completely still. “So even if there were a miracle…”
Her voice broke.
“…it could kill me?”
“We would be deeply concerned for your safety.”
The remaining hope drained from Melissa’s face. John reached for her again. This time, she let him take her hand. She did not squeeze back. For several moments, the only sound in the office was Melissa’s unsteady breathing.
Then she whispered, “I’ve wanted to be a mother since I was little.” John closed his eyes briefly. Melissa continued as though she were speaking to herself.
“I used to make lists of baby names.”
A tear fell from her chin onto the back of her hand.
“I would change them every few months because I could never decide which ones I loved most.”
Dr. Bennett slid a box of tissues across the desk. Melissa did not reach for it.
“I wanted four.”
Her expression twisted as a sob threatened to escape.
“John said that was too many, so we agreed on three.”
John looked down.
“I was joking,” he said hoarsely.
Melissa released a broken laugh. “I know.”
The laugh collapsed into a cry. She covered her mouth, but it did nothing to contain the sound. John moved immediately, pulling his chair closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Melissa folded into him.
“I wanted to feel them move.”
Her words were muffled against his chest.
“I wanted the stupid cravings and the swollen feet. I wanted to complain about being tired and make you go to the store in the middle of the night.”
John pressed his cheek against her hair.
“I know.”
“I wanted to pick out a crib.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to see who they looked like.”
Her body shook.
“I know.”
“I wanted someone to call me Mom.”
The final word shattered what remained of her composure. Melissa clutched the front of John’s shirt and sobbed. He held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head. Tears burned behind his eyes. He had imagined this moment for two months. Every possible version of it.
In some, he told her the truth before the doctor could.
In others, he confessed afterward. He had imagined taking her hands, looking into her eyes, and admitting that he had known since the hospital.
That her mother had cried beside his bed.
That a doctor had explained the damage while Melissa was still unconscious.
That he had promised to tell her when she was strong enough.
He had imagined apologizing until his voice disappeared. But now she was trembling in his arms, grieving a future she had believed was still waiting for her. And John was afraid that the truth would take away the only person she had left to hold on to. His mouth opened.
“Melissa…”
She lifted her face.
Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet.
“What?”
The confession rose into his throat.
I knew. I should have told you. I’m sorry. Instead, he brushed a tear from beneath her eye.
“I’m here.”
Her face crumpled again. She leaned into him, and the truth sank back into silence. Dr. Bennett gave them several moments before speaking.
“There are other paths to parenthood,” she said gently. “I don’t expect you to discuss them today, and I would never suggest that they erase what you’re losing. They don’t.”
Melissa remained against John’s chest.
“When you’re ready,” the doctor continued, “we can talk about adoption or the possibility of using a gestational carrier, depending on additional testing and what options are appropriate for you. There are also counselors who specialize in infertility and reproductive loss.”
Melissa slowly lifted her head.
“A carrier?”