Sitting down at the kitchen table,
Sunlight streaming in,
Steaming cup of coffee in hand,
Lauren's mind went back in time to the fertility clinic waiting room.
Once they were called into the doctor's office,
Lauren sat in the stiff chair beside Nathan,
Looking towards Dr.
Martinez like he held the key to their baby.
His tone carried the practiced gentleness of someone who delivered devastating news daily.
His voice carefully modulated as he explained what the numbers meant.
Mr.
Salazar,
He said,
His eyes kind and direct.
Your sperm count is significantly below normal range.
We're looking at fewer than five million sperm per millimeter when we need at least 15 million for natural conception.
The words had hung in the air like a death sentence.
Nathan's face had gone ashen,
Silently processing what he'd been told.
The motility is also compromised,
Dr.
Martinez continued gently.
Only about 12% are moving effectively.
For successful conception,
We'd like to see at least 40%.
Lauren had watched her husband tighten in the clinical chair.
Watched confidence crumble as the doctor explained that his body,
The body he'd always trusted,
Always counted on,
Had been the stopgap for this baby they'd been working on so diligently to welcome into their lives.
Not until they made it back into the car did Nathan finally speak.
Low count.
His laugh sounded bitter,
Sharp,
And jagged.
Nothing like the easy warmth they'd come into the appointment with.
Like barely anything at all.
They're saying he swallowed hard.
They're saying I probably can't.
He couldn't even finish the sentence.
His head hung low,
His whole body showing defeat.
Lauren reached across the console,
But he jerked away,
His whole body recoiling from her touch.
He fumbled with his seatbelt,
Needing to move,
Needing to pace,
Feeling trapped by the confines of the car.
All this time,
He said,
His voice rising with each word.
All the treatments,
All the money,
All those damn ovulation kits,
And the temperature charts,
And the scheduled sex.
His voice dropped off.
His hands raked through his hair.
And it was me?
Every month when I tried to make you feel better after another failed attempt.
I thought I was helping you to get things right,
To make this happen.
But this whole time,
I've been the problem?
Her chest ached at his words,
But he didn't flinch.
Her chest ached at his words,
But she didn't flinch.
She could see he wasn't really seeing her right now.
He was drowning in his own guilt,
Gasping for ground in a world that had suddenly shifted beneath his feet.
Nathan.
No.
He held up a hand,
Still staring straight ahead through the windshield at the parking lot full of other couples carrying their own private devastations.
Don't.
Don't try to make this okay.
Don't tell me we'll figure it out or any of that other bullshit that people say.
She wanted to tell him then.
Words burned in her throat,
So they remained in her mind alone.
I'm pregnant.
I'm already pregnant.
She wanted to blurt out the truth,
Confess everything,
Let him know that miracles could still happen,
Even when science said that they couldn't.
But her tongue felt locked,
The secret growing heavier with each passing second.
How could she explain that she was carrying a child when the man beside her had just been told his body couldn't create one?
How could she tell him about the baby without telling him about Nico?
Nathan finally started the car,
His movements mechanical.
Guess that's it.
His voice was hollow now,
Resigned.
Guess we're not having a baby.
She could sense the lump in his throat getting thick with emotion.
Never get to see what they'd look like,
If they'd have your eyes or my stubborn streak.
He let out a short,
Stiff laugh.
Doesn't matter now,
Does it?
When he finally looked at her,
His eyes were red-rimmed and raw.
I'm sorry,
Lauren.
I'm so goddamn sorry I couldn't give you this one thing.
The one thing you wanted most.
She nodded,
Not trusting her voice.
The drive home stretched before them in silence,
Each lost in their own version of guilt.
Falling asleep with their backs against each other,
Each carrying this deep disappointment in their own painful way.
