The Other Man's Child

I stood up first, my body trembling as we walked in.

  The doctor looked at his note.

  “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

  “Well, doctor, we trust in your expertise and hope you have good news for us,” Tom said.

  I clutched my bag, hugging it closer to my chest.

  “Well, there is good news and bad news. Which should come first?” the doctor said.

  I glanced at Tom and took in a deep breath.

  Tom leaned back in his seat.

  “I think we should hear the bad news first.”

  “Well,” the doctor said, clasping his hands together and looking over the rim of his glasses.

  “The bad news is, it seems that Selene’s ovaries are no longer producing healthy eggs.”

  I froze.

  Tom's brows furrowed, and he leaned forward.

  “Wha…what do you mean, doctor?” I stammered.

  “Your eggs are not being fertilised, ma'am.”

  Tom glanced at me and back at the doctor.

  “We have a daughter. She’s five,” he said.

  The Doctor sighed. “Well, things like this do happen over time; it could be hormones, stress or even age, but with proper treatments you should be pregnant in no time!”

  “Ca…can we see the results, Doctor?” I asked.

  “Sure, here it is.” He stretched it in our direction.

  I reached for it, but Tom beat me to it.

  The look on his face told me everything I needed to know.

  Then he handed it to me slowly.

  My name was boldly written across the top.

  Then just right underneath.

  Assessment: Patient exhibits premature ovarian insufficiency.

  My stomach twisted. The room spun.

  It felt like my body had suddenly stopped belonging to me. Like I had failed in the one place Tom needed me most.

  “No,” I shook my head. “This is wrong, Tom. It's not true.”

  He wasn't listening. “How do we go about treatments, doctor?”

  He leaned back on his chair. “It would be a series of fertility shots, healthy diets and exercise, but nothing too serious.”

  “Thank you very much; we will be in touch,” Tom said, standing up.

  I reached for his arm, but he swatted it away.

  I turned to the doctor, wishing I could plug his eye out for delivering such news.

  Tears threatened to spill.

  “Thank you for ruining my life, doctor.”

  “I am sorry, ma'am; I was only doing my job.”

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out. I slammed the door behind me.

  Tom was already in the car. His jaw tightened.

  “Tom, please…” I sobbed.

  “I don't want to hear it. “Get in, Selene,” he snapped.

  I stepped in hurriedly. My chest pounded.

  He didn't even wait for me to shut the door before speeding off.

  I leaned my head against the windowsill. Tears ran down my cheeks.

  I couldn’t believe it. Infertile. After all these years, I wished I’d never suggested seeing a specialist.

  We drove in silence. The only sound was the blaring horn from the cars that swerved past us as we moved between lanes.

  Finally, he pulled up at the front of the house.

  “I am sorry,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

  “Get out,” he commanded.

  “What?” I asked, shocked.

  “Now!”

  I stared at him. His gaze pierced into mine.

  My eyes widened.

  He was serious.

  My legs trembled as I stepped out of the car. The wind felt like it slapped my wet cheeks. I stood there, hugging myself, feeling small.

  He drove so fast the tyres screeched.

  “Forgive me, Tom,” I called to the disappearing car.

  I stood there for what felt like hours.

  Then finally, I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeves before walking into the house.

  Inside, the house was quiet.

  Amira was asleep.

  “I hope she wasn't much trouble?” I asked the babysitter.

  “No, she was wonderful, and her temperature is back to normal.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said, fighting back tears. The doctor's words replayed in my head.

  “Could you stay here for an extra hour? I would pay.” I asked.

  “Sure, ma'am, I would be delighted too,” she squealed.

  “Thank you.”

  I made my way to the kitchen.

  I had an idea.

  He was angry, yes—but maybe I could soften him. Steak and mashed potatoes… his favourite. He needed a good lunch.

  My fingers moved mechanically, cracking eggs, washing potatoes, and seasoning the meat.

  Cooking had always been the one way I could still feel useful to him. Maybe—just maybe—if he tasted something he loved, he would remember he once loved me too.

  I placed the steak on the plate, my hands trembling. Would he even eat it?

  I walked out the door, the food neatly packed in a box.

  I didn't want to lose Tom, not after all these years.

  I got in my car and drove in the direction of his office.

  Tom was the proud CEO of his late father's company. He never let me come here with him except when he had forgotten an important document and he needed it.

  I could feel the eyes on me as I walked through the lobby—employees pretending not to stare, whispering behind the computer screens.

  I forced my shoulders up. I wasn’t here to embarrass him. I just wanted to fix things.

  At the top floor, the secretary blocked my part.

  Her arms were folded over her chest with an annoying pout on her lips.

  “Ma’am, Mr Harold strictly warned me not to let anyone in.” She twisted her feet nervously.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Mr Harold is my husband. So if you will excuse me”

  “Maa…m”

  I brushed past her, pushing her aside. I never liked that woman.

  She followed behind.

  “Ma’am, you really shouldn’t…”

  My chest pounded.

  I placed my fingers on the door of Tom's office door, exhaling.

  I imagined how he might smile when he saw the meal.

  I pushed it open.

  I heard voices before I even stepped fully inside. The sight before me made my stomach twist.

  “Tom!”

  The box slipped from my fingers to the floor.

  The contents spilt over.

  “I warned you,” the secretary muttered.