After five years of marriage and two of failed IVF rounds, dozens of hormone injections, medications that made my hair fall out and my emotions spiral,
I was carrying a child. Our child.
Joe actually cried tears of joy when I showed him the positive pregnancy test. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me all over my face again and again.
"This changes everything," he whispered into my hair. "This is our beginning."
I had wanted that to be true. I needed it to be true.
Pregnancy made everything better. Joe has become so much sweeter; the way he looked at me, he was more attentive and caring. For the first time in years, he touched me like he meant it. Held me at night. Rubbed my back when I couldn't sleep, massaged me when I had pains. He always made sure I was fed and all my cravings were taken care of.
Anytime he had to go on a business trip and be away for a while, Veronica came and stayed with me to help take care of me. Throughout all the ups and downs of the marriage, she has been my rock and confidante. She was the best thing my relationship with Joe has given me… well, except for my baby.
My body changed quickly. I was bloated, aching, and rounder in ways I never imagined, but I didn't mind. I walked slower, rested more, and smiled more easily. Everything was so perfect.
He started talking about names, about what kind of father he wanted to be.
"I want them to be strong," he said one night, hands over my belly. "Smart. Just like their mother."
I cried when he said it. I cry over everything these days.
Hormones, maybe. Or maybe it was a relief.
The baby brought color back into our home. We picked a room in the house for the nursery. We painted it, ordered children's books and books about motherhood and parenthood, and shopped for unisex baby clothes because we both agreed we didn't want to know the gender of the child. We wanted it to be a surprise.
I bookmarked lullabies and stared at tiny socks like they were made of gold.
We did everything together. Every ache and stretch felt sacred.
The nausea. The dizziness. The stretch marks on my belly. I bore them all with pride.
Because I was carrying proof of our love.
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Everything was perfect. I had my husband back and a child on the way; I was on top of the world—nothing could bring me down.
Towards the end of my second trimester, I started having pains in my hips and lower back. At first, I thought it was normal, but then it became more and more unbearable. Joe insisted I go to the hospital because he was very worried; he practically bundled me in the car and drove me to the hospital.
In the end all the doctor recommended was rest. It was my first pregnancy, so my body was just adapting to it. Also, he recommended we stop all penetrative sexual activities till the baby is born.
From the beginning of the pregnancy, he has been hands-on when it came to my care. I was not allowed to stress myself in any way; even cooking and walking down the stairs was too stressful for him. I had to put my foot down to stop him from installing a lift. He always made sure I was well-fed, well-rested, and comfortable; hell, he even ordered custom-made chairs specifically for pregnant women. He was so ridiculous about his care that even his friends started calling him Papa Joe.
Joe took the doctor's advice seriously; even oral sex wasn't allowed. He gave me head once in a while when hormones made me extra horny, but it was with a lot of reluctance. He ended up buying multiple toys for me. Saying he didn't want to risk anything.
Frequent prenatal appointments became my everyday life.
Towards the end of my fifth month of pregnancy, I had just gotten back from another prenatal appointment; my feet were swollen, my lower back was killing me, and I had thrown up twice that morning, but I was happy. The heartbeat was strong; my little bean was healthy.
The house was quiet when I entered.
"Honey?" No one answered. I checked the two sitting rooms and the kitchen area; Joe was nowhere to be found.
I shrugged, maybe stepping out for a bit. I would just quickly go up, have a quick shower, and change into something more comfortable. When he got back, we would figure out what we would have for dinner.
I was heading to the kitchen when I heard Joe's voice, laughing, floating from his study down the hall. I smiled and walked towards the door. He always liked to see me after an appointment, so he asked questions and fretted. When I got closer, I heard the voice of his close friend say something.
Oh, he had company. Zack was one of his friends, apart from Veronica, that I liked. He was funny and always touchy and harmlessly teased Joe by trying to make him jealous.
I was about to walk in and greet them when something Zack said stopped me in my tracks.
"You are fucking evil. I still can't believe you actually pulled it off."
"What else was I supposed to do?" Joe replied, his voice mocking. "She was obsessed with having a child then, and I wasn't ready. I had to make her think she was the problem."
I froze. "What??"
Zack sounded incredulous. "And your next move was to lace her food and drinks with birth control for three years? You know you could have just told her you were not ready, and she would have listened. Everyone knows Lily adores you; she would do anything for you."
"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively, then he chuckled like he was about a tell a joke. "You know, I also crushed it into her morning vitamins. Every day. She never questioned when things tasted a little bit off. As long as I was the one giving her, she consumed it like it was nectar from the gods."
I pressed my hand against the wall, willing myself not to crumble.
"You're something else, man," Zack said, half-laughing, half-shocked. "You seriously fed her birth control pills for three years just to make her think she was infertile?"
My entire body went numb.
Joe laughed nonchalantly. "Of course. She needed to think she was the problem. That way, IVF was her idea."