Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“You should head to work. I’ll take Isa.” I hadn’t asked Isa to come along. I knew she would have joined me if I’d asked, but I preferred to be alone.
Maximus grabbed his phone, scanned the messages, and slipped it into his jeans pocket. “Sure. Will you give me a call afterward?”
“Of course,” I said distractedly as I began to pack my purse and left the kitchen to grab my wool coat and put on my shoes.
My two bodyguards waited in the waiting room as I entered the consulting room. I was glad I didn’t have personal guards, but I changed men depending on who was available. If I’d had someone who knew me for a while, they might have felt obligated to inquire about my welfare.
After a quick examination, it was clear that I wasn’t pregnant.
Seeing my face, my doctor said, “It’s quite usual for it to take six to twelve months to get pregnant, so this is perfectly normal.”
“Last time, I got pregnant right away,” I said softly, trying to keep it together. I’d put so much hope into the one time Maximus and I had been intimate. I hadn’t dared to consider that it wouldn’t be enough, even if I knew better.
She nodded, her face kind but professional. She was a no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point person, which was reflected in her practical, short pixie cut and no makeup. “Do you get your period regularly?”
“I used to, but it’s been less consistent in the past year.”
“A miscarriage and the hormonal changes shouldn’t still cause you trouble, but I noticed that you’ve lost some weight. This might be a reason your body isn’t ready to conceive. But again, this is still perfectly normal.”
“So if I eat more and gain some weight, it might help me get pregnant?”
“Being as healthy as possible, physically and mentally, is always a good start for a pregnancy.”
I could do something about the physical part. The other wouldn’t be so easy.
Despite my doctor’s encouraging words and a solution for how to improve my chances of getting pregnant, I felt crushed. I asked my bodyguards to take me to my parents’ house.
Only Mom was there when I arrived. One look at my face, and she led me toward the sofa and sank down beside me. Her compassionate gaze hit me like an avalanche, and I began crying. When I’d calmed down, I told Mom everything, only leaving out the details of our sexual encounter. Mom touched my cheek. “Sara, I understand you long for a child, and I want nothing more than for you to be happy, but there’s still so much trauma in your and Maximus’s life. Maybe it would be good if you tried to work on that first. A child won’t make everything better. Raising a child requires strength. If you and Maximus don’t work on your problems, how will you work together as parents?”
Her words made sense. Too much sense. I’d spent the past year trying to ignore my trauma, which had been easier as long as I’d spent as little time as possible with Maximus. But Mom was right. A child deserved parents who were more than strangers, parents who weren’t haunted by their past.
Once back home, I took a long shower and cuddled up on the comfy armchair in my room with Isa’s newest book. She’d warned me of its gloomy nature, but I wasn’t in the mood to be uplifted or cheered up. I wanted to be as miserable as possible.
When I heard Maximus return home shortly after six, I forced myself to leave my room.
“You’re early,” I said, surprised when I spotted him kicking off his boots in the mudroom. One of them fell over, but he didn’t pick it back up. It didn’t bother me like it usually would. What did it matter that the shoes weren’t neatly put side by side?
“You didn’t message me after your appointment, so I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said, straightening and searching my face. His gaze lingered on my eyes. They probably still showed traces of my earlier crying. I’d removed my makeup and cleaned my face, but the puffy feeling remained.
I turned to avoid eye contact and considered what I should say.
“Sara?” Maximus stepped closer. Maybe if our marriage had been real, I would have leaned against him and sought his closeness and consolation, but as it was, I only wished for it. Why couldn’t I just take the first step? Why couldn’t I lean against him? “It didn’t work,” I said with a small, shaky smile and a shrug. “Maybe next time.”
Maximus’s expression remained perfectly controlled, no sign of approval or disapproval. He took another step closer and lightly touched my shoulder. His touch was warm and gentle. I could smell the hint of curd soap on his hand and faint disinfectant. He’d never returned covered in blood since we’d been married and often wore black clothes so detecting blood was close to impossible. I appreciated that he made sure to clean up before he got home. Dad was the same way. He’d never brought signs of his work back home.