Never Need Me to Give Him a Child

The needle pierced my skin, sending a sharp jolt through my body. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood as another hormone injection burned its way into my system.

"Just a little more," Dr. Patel said, her voice clinically detached as she pushed the plunger down. "This is the final one for today."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My abdomen felt bloated and tender, my ovaries swollen to twice their normal size. Five years of this—five years of needles, hormones, procedures, and disappointment.

"The retrieval went well," she continued, removing the needle and pressing a cotton ball to the injection site. "We collected eight eggs this time. That's an improvement."

An improvement. As if quantity mattered when none had ever resulted in a pregnancy.

"And Orion?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. "He couldn't make it again?"

Dr. Patel's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry, Katty. He called to say he had an urgent meeting that couldn't be rescheduled."

I nodded again, swallowing the familiar lump in my throat. Orion's "urgent meetings" had become as regular as my hormone injections.

"The lab will fertilize the eggs tonight," Dr. Patel continued, making notes in my file. "We'll transfer two embryos in three days. Try to stay positive."

Positive. As if that would make my broken body work any better.

"Will Orion be at the transfer?" she asked.

"He'll try," I lied, knowing he wouldn't. He never did.

I dressed slowly after the procedure, each movement sending waves of pain through my abdomen. The fertility clinic's waiting room was filled with women who looked either hopeful or defeated—I recognized both expressions in the mirror.

Orion hadn't even bothered to call. Not a text, not an email. Nothing.

I walked home alone through the city streets, my body aching and my spirit crushed under the weight of another failed attempt. The spring air felt warm against my face, but I couldn't feel it inside me where it mattered.

As I rounded the corner near the small park three blocks from our apartment, children's laughter floated toward me. I paused, drawn to the sound despite myself.

A little boy with dark curls was toddling across the grass, his tiny legs still unsteady. He couldn't have been more than three years old.

"Careful, Ethan!" A woman's voice called out, gentle and concerned.

I watched as she caught up to him, lifting him into her arms. She was beautiful—delicate features, honey-blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders, her body curved in all the right places.

And then I saw him.

Orion.

My husband of five years was kneeling in the grass, his hands outstretched toward the child. "Come here, buddy! Give daddy a hug!"

The boy wobbled toward him, arms outstretched. "Daddy!"

Orion swept him up, pressing kisses to his cheeks, his eyes alight with joy. "There's my big boy! Did you miss daddy?"

"Uh-huh!" The boy nodded enthusiastically, wrapping his chubby arms around Orion's neck.

The woman—his mother, I realized with sickening clarity—approached them, her hand resting possessively on Orion's shoulder. "He's been asking for you all morning."

Orion looked up at her, his expression softening in a way I hadn't seen directed at me in years. "I missed you both so much."

He pulled her into his arms, the three of them forming a perfect family portrait. Then he leaned down and kissed her—not a perfunctory peck, but a tender, lingering kiss that spoke of intimacy and love.

The world tilted beneath my feet.

A child. The one thing I couldn't give him.

A family. The one thing he'd stopped pretending to want with me.

"Katty?"

I turned to see Brenda, one of the nurses from the fertility clinic, staring at me with concern.

"Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. My eyes were locked on the scene before me—Orion picking flowers for the woman, the boy toddling between them, all three laughing as if they didn't have a care in the world.

As if I didn't exist.

"She's pretty," I heard myself say, my voice distant and strange.

"What?" Brenda followed my gaze, her expression changing as understanding dawned. "Oh, Katty—"

I stumbled backward, my vision blurring with tears. Away from the perfect family. Away from the betrayal.

"Katty, wait!" Brenda called after me.

I didn't see the car until it was too late.

The screech of brakes filled my ears as I stepped off the curb directly into oncoming traffic. Time seemed to slow as headlights bore down on me.

Orion's face flashed before me—not the cold, distant husband of recent years, but the man who had once promised to love me forever. The man who had held my hand through the first failed IVF attempt and whispered that we would try again.

The man who now had everything I couldn't give him with another woman.

The impact came with surprising gentleness. For a moment, there was nothing but light and the echo of children's laughter.

Then darkness.

I gasped awake, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs.

For a moment, I lay perfectly still, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

I was in my bedroom. Our bedroom. The curtains were drawn against the morning light, and the digital clock on the nightstand read 7:23 AM.

Slowly, I raised my hand to my abdomen. The tenderness was there—the familiar ache of another failed IVF attempt.

"Katty?" Orion's voice came from the kitchen. "Are you awake? We need to leave in an hour."

I sat up slowly, memories flooding back with sickening clarity.

The fertility clinic. The playground. Orion with his secret family.

The car.

"I'm up," I called back, my voice hoarse.

As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, a wave of dizziness washed over me. This was wrong. I was dead. I had been hit by a car after seeing Orion with his mistress and their child.

So why was I here?

A glance at the calendar on the wall confirmed my suspicions.

Three years. I had been given three years.

Three years before the day that would kill me.

Orion appeared in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, his expression unreadable. "The car will be here at eight. Dr. Bergman said he'd meet us at the clinic."

I nodded, studying his face as if seeing it for the first time. The handsome features that had once made my heart race now seemed like a mask hiding something monstrous beneath.

"You're not going to be late again, are you?" I asked carefully.

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, at my directness. "Of course not. This is important."

Liar, I thought, the word bitter on my tongue.

He already had a child. A son named Ethan who was at least three years old in my memory.

Which meant he'd been with her—Carol, that was her name—for at least four years.

Four years of lies while I tortured my body with hormones and procedures.

"Katty?" Orion's voice pulled me back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay? You look... different."

I forced a smile, though it felt like my face might crack from the effort. "Just tired from yesterday's procedure."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned away. "I'll be ready in forty minutes."

As he disappeared down the hallway, I sank back onto the bed, my mind racing with the implications of my rebirth.