Journal of anime ramblings, fiction works and reflections
She waited up for him and stood by the window, dressed in only her silk robe, a glass of wine in hand. The night air was cool, a sort of solemnity tapering the atmosphere as the light drizzle rinsed the earth. The door to the bedroom opened and she turned, smiling at her husband. His gaze was indifferent, his face etched by lines of fatigue and the corners of his lips dipped in an irritable frown.
Ignoring the tension he brought with him, she poured him a glass of wine from the decanter and approached him. He eyed her warily as he set his bag down. “What’s this?”
“A glass of wine. It’s our anniversary.”
“I know,” he said flippantly. She kept her smile in place, staving off memory that he had left their bed that morning without so much a lingering kiss or a rose.
“Well, I visited the doctor today and he said now would be a good time to try.”
He arched a brow, looking her over and she almost squirmed under the pressure of his reproachful stare. “Try what?”
Her shoulders sagged visibly and she licked her lips. “I’m ovulating Andy.”
He scoffed and turned away, setting the wine glass on the vanity. “Forget it.”
“We’ve been trying Charlotte. You can’t get pregnant, face it.”
She took umbrage to his blunt and curt response, and clenched her fists at her sides. “Andy that’s not fair. If we..”
“You’ve had three miscarriages and one stillborn Charlotte. What more do you want to try?”
His tone was harsh and bitter and twisted a deep pain in her, diffusing all the optimism she’d had about one day getting pregnant. Her failure to have children had frustrated him and drove an irremovable wedge between them. She was still determined.
“We could try one more-”
“Enough Charlotte. I’m not interested.”
She scowled and stepped away from him, “Fine then. It would have only lasted five minutes anyway.” She wanted to bruise his ego as much as he’d deliberately wounded hers.
But he smiled sardonically. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s only five minutes with you.”
Her palm stung from the impulsive slap she gave him. She glared up at him, unfaltering, even though his gaze was murderous. His breathing was heavy and methodical, as if he was counting the seconds just so he wouldn’t hit her back. He clenched his jaw and walked out the room, and slammed the door, leaving her alone.
She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop them from trembling. She could have children. She wouldn’t stop believing that, even if he didn’t want to. She would have a child. She promised herself that.