Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
But after four years of trying for a baby—first the easy way of just having sex together, then the harder way of going through shots, tracking her cycle, and even further of getting in-vitro fertilization.
When none of those things ever worked for her, and I sensed Reggie getting to the point where she was getting depressed, I’d gone to Dr. Messings.
He wasn’t practicing anymore, at least not as a doctor. He’d found someone after it was all said and done that could work at his practice for him and still give him that income that he was used to for his daughter. All the while, he only ran the business aspect of it, and ended up thriving.
I’d been thinking on what to do for Reggie and myself for a while now, and the more I thought on it, the more convinced I became that this was the best option.
Everybody thought that Dare was Reggie’s biological son—at least the ones that didn’t know the back story behind him.
He had the same curly auburn hair, the same skin tone, and the same color of eyes, surprisingly.
The only thing of me that he had was his build and cleft chin. He was a big ass kid and was going to be a monster when he finally grew into himself.
So there was only one logical choice to be had.
“Where are we going?” she grumbled, pissed off all over again because we’d found out today that our fourth round of in-vitro hadn’t worked.
I felt her pain.
I wished that she didn’t have to go through it.
Honestly, out of everything that we’d suffered, her not being able to get pregnant was the worst—at least in my opinion.
“Here,” I said, looking up at the building.
She frowned. “Why here?”
Dr. Messing’s place wasn’t known to her. She’d never gone to his place of business as I had.
I caught her hand and tugged her out of the car, then continued to hold her hand as I delivered her to the front counter where I asked for Dr. Messings.
That caught her attention.
“What’s going on?” she asked worriedly.
“What’s going on is that we’re going to do this how we did it before,” I said. “If it happens naturally after that, it happens. But, I’m tired of seeing you look so defeated. We’re doing it a different way for now.”
Her mouth opened and closed, but before she could get a word out, we were being called back.
I looked down at her as she took in all the walls lined with photos of babies, seeing her face filled with longing was an absolute wrench on my heart.
“This way,” the woman who’d called us back said.
We followed her to the end of the hallway to the same exact office that Dr. Messings had been in the last time I’d visited.
When we arrived at his door, he stood up and grinned at me. “Nathan. It’s been a long time.”
He shook my hand and then dropped it before offering his to Reggie.
She took it with a look of worry on her face.
“So I hear that you want to have another baby,” he said.
Reggie’s eyes met mine.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I do. So much.”
He gestured to the chairs. “You’ve been doing this for four years now.”
Reggie nodded, looking sickened.
I squeezed her hand.
“I’ve read your file,” he said. “And usually, I would say that you could continue to try, but after reading everything, I think that you’re a little beyond that.”
Reggie’s shoulders fell.
“Your womb is fine,” Dr. Messings continued. “What’s not fine are your eggs.”
Reggie nodded. She already knew that.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“So here’s my suggestion,” I started. “He still has frozen eggs from the donor that we used for Dare.”
Her head whipped around toward me.
“The other eggs were destroyed—the fertilized ones—but we can make more. Dr. Messings still has that woman’s frozen eggs here. We can fertilize them and then implant them into your uterus. You can carry the baby to term. And we have a baby that way.”
I hadn’t even finished my explanation before she started to cry.
Pulling her into my arms, I buried my face into her neck.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “I know this is hard.”
She cried even harder.
I looked over at Dr. Messings who wasn’t surprised to find her crying in the least.
He nodded his head as if to say, ‘take your time.’
I did, and held my wife until she pulled away.
It was long moments later, tears still streaming down her face, that she said, “I want to do it. Now.”
I laughed.
“Not now,” Dr. Messings said. “But soon.”
***
Four months later
“Dare,” I said to my son. “You need to clean up these Cheetos before I take away everything of value that you’ve ever cherished.”
Dare gave me a long-suffering sigh and did as he was asked, picking up the Cheetos that he’d dropped when he was making his sandwich and making his way toward the trash.