LIANA’S POV
+25 BONUS
I couldn’t sleep. I just couldn’t. I kept tossing and turning, kicking the blanket off, then pulling it back up like that would somehow fix what was happening in my head. I stared at the ceiling. I looked at the wall. I even closed my eyes a couple of times, hoping maybe if I just pretended to sleep, my brain would get the memo and actually let me rest. But it didn’t work. How could I sleep when my entire chest felt like it was stuffed full of confusion and disappointments?
It wasn’t even really about the infertility. Not entirely. I mean, yeah, it hit me like a punch to the gut when he told me he couldn’t get me pregnant, but what was worse, what kept burning through me like acid, was that he didn’t tell me. All this time. All this while. Since he came back into my life, since we started sleeping together again, since I started taking those damn pills thinking I was being careful, he knew. He knew, and he didn’t say a word.
Why didn’t he trust me enough to tell me? Why did he let me go on like that? What did he think I would do, run away? Get disgusted? Think less of him? I was angry. But I wasn’t angry because of what he couldn’t do, I was angry because he kept it from me. Because I had to find out like this, lying naked in his arms, after I had opened up to him and told him I wanted to start a family again. I had been serious. I had meant every word. And he just sat there, stiff, quiet, looking like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. 1
He didn’t even cry. That was the messed up part. I could see it in his eyes. He was scared. Maybe even ashamed. But he didn’t let it show. He just… told me. Flat. Almost like he was bracing for impact. And I had frozen. My body shut down. I couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t react. I didn’t even know what to feel. And now, here I was, still staring at the ceiling, my chest tight, my throat burning from words I hadn’t said.
At some point, I felt him shift behind me. I didn’t know if he was asleep or awake, but his arm came around my waist and pulled me close. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t move. I just lay there, stiff and quiet, eyes still wide open in the dark.
“Baby,” he whispered. His voice cracked like it was caught somewhere between sleep and guilt. “Please… don’t be mad at me.”
I swallowed hard, my lips pressed together. I didn’t answer him. I didn’t even know what to say. Because I wasn’t mad that he couldn’t give me another child. That wasn’t it. It was the fact that he left me in the dark. Made me keep taking those stupid pills like an idiot. Let me believe we were just being careful. Was he trying to protect me? Or protect himself? 1
He kept holding me. He kept whispering the same thing, over and over again, like a quiet chant, like a prayer. Please, baby. Don’t be mad at me.”
I wasn’t mad. I was hurt. There’s a difference.
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I stayed still for so long that eventually I didn’t even realize when sleep pulled me under. Somewhere in the mess of tangled thoughts and heavy silence, I drifted off, my cheek pressed against the pillow, my body warm and tired.
But then I felt something.
Soft fingers. Gentle. Pulling something over me. Slipping a shirt, his shirt maybe, over my head and carefully down my arms. He was dressing me.
And that was when I knew he was still awake too.
