finally confessed. I refused to meet his eye, focusing on the white paper napkin I was crumpling between my fingers. He went on despite my attempt to get him to change the subject.
“You seem like you’re struggling. You’re making a big sacrifice, Mila, and we all know it. You have to know both Monique and Devan are very grateful that you’re helping them.”
“I know,” I replied, heaving a sigh. “It’s just…”
I looked up at my dad, unsure of what I could tell him. It felt too private and intimate to share any of it with him, but maybe I could hide what I really knew and still get his opinion. “I want to help, but it’s very tough,” I admitted. “They have me on a special diet and special… rules. I can’t do much, really. And they fight a lot, Dad.”
“All couples fight, it’s probably just a phase,” he said cheerfully, and I gave him a doubtful look and shook my head. If he had witnessed at least one of Monique and Dev’s screaming sessions, he would be of a different opinion.
“Not like this…”
“Oh. I think I understand,” my dad finally admitted, finding my hand with his. “I know it’s difficult. I don’t know the whole story, and in the end, this is your decision to make. Try not to let what’s going on in their personal lives affect your decision. You can still back out, you know.”
I nodded weakly, and he patted my hand just as the waitress set down two heaping plates on the table.
“I want you to be doing it all for the right reasons, not because you feel pressured. And I’ll support you no matter what you decide.” Dad added his final thought before tucking into his burger.
I just stared at mine, thinking hard.
Was I doing it for the right reasons?
Suddenly I knew one thing full sure: I did not want to have a hand in bringing a child into a damaged, broken family, a family that lacked trust and even the most basic ingredient: love.
With that realisation, a decision started to form in my mind.
16
Devan
T he delicate strings that held my life together seemed to be unravelling one by one. I was holding on by the skin of my teeth, struggling for weeks, trying hard to keep it all together.
My marriage was in crisis, slipping from my hands, fading away, and I knew I either had to do something about fixing it before it was too late or regret not trying. I had to give Monique the benefit of doubt. All the hormones and emotions that surrounded the very nature of desperately wanting a baby must’ve been wreaking havoc on her body and mind. She was the most important woman in my life; I had to take the torturous silences, the games, for the sake of our marriage.
But I felt like I was just a pawn in Monique’s life, though, when realistically I should be by her side, the king to her queen. Yet I was pushed out, kept at arm’s length, unloved and unwanted.
All of this and more had been going through my head when Mila called to ask if she could talk to my wife and me after dinner. I saw Monique clutching the silverware, her knuckles white with the tension in them. I could barely get a bite down, the bland meal tasting like sawdust in my throat. I had an inkling of what was to come - Mila had been distant, unable to look my way and barely uttering a word to either of us - she was struggling, too.
We finally finished our dinner and stacked the dishwasher, Monique and I awkwardly stepping around each other, as if any contact would turn us both to stone. A soft knock on the rear door let us know Mila had arrived.
Monique didn’t even look at me as she strode over to the door, letting my stepsister in. They hugged stiffly, and I looked away, feeling confused and drained.
We all sat down at the kitchen table; Mila took a deep breath, and I waited for the whole world to come crashing around our heads.
She glanced at me for a second, her eyes full of guilt, and I bit my tongue while my heart raced, pumping with adrenaline. I think I knew what was going to happen before
“You seem like you’re struggling. You’re making a big sacrifice, Mila, and we all know it. You have to know both Monique and Devan are very grateful that you’re helping them.”
“I know,” I replied, heaving a sigh. “It’s just…”
I looked up at my dad, unsure of what I could tell him. It felt too private and intimate to share any of it with him, but maybe I could hide what I really knew and still get his opinion. “I want to help, but it’s very tough,” I admitted. “They have me on a special diet and special… rules. I can’t do much, really. And they fight a lot, Dad.”
“All couples fight, it’s probably just a phase,” he said cheerfully, and I gave him a doubtful look and shook my head. If he had witnessed at least one of Monique and Dev’s screaming sessions, he would be of a different opinion.
“Not like this…”
“Oh. I think I understand,” my dad finally admitted, finding my hand with his. “I know it’s difficult. I don’t know the whole story, and in the end, this is your decision to make. Try not to let what’s going on in their personal lives affect your decision. You can still back out, you know.”
I nodded weakly, and he patted my hand just as the waitress set down two heaping plates on the table.
“I want you to be doing it all for the right reasons, not because you feel pressured. And I’ll support you no matter what you decide.” Dad added his final thought before tucking into his burger.
I just stared at mine, thinking hard.
Was I doing it for the right reasons?
Suddenly I knew one thing full sure: I did not want to have a hand in bringing a child into a damaged, broken family, a family that lacked trust and even the most basic ingredient: love.
With that realisation, a decision started to form in my mind.
16
Devan
T he delicate strings that held my life together seemed to be unravelling one by one. I was holding on by the skin of my teeth, struggling for weeks, trying hard to keep it all together.
My marriage was in crisis, slipping from my hands, fading away, and I knew I either had to do something about fixing it before it was too late or regret not trying. I had to give Monique the benefit of doubt. All the hormones and emotions that surrounded the very nature of desperately wanting a baby must’ve been wreaking havoc on her body and mind. She was the most important woman in my life; I had to take the torturous silences, the games, for the sake of our marriage.
But I felt like I was just a pawn in Monique’s life, though, when realistically I should be by her side, the king to her queen. Yet I was pushed out, kept at arm’s length, unloved and unwanted.
All of this and more had been going through my head when Mila called to ask if she could talk to my wife and me after dinner. I saw Monique clutching the silverware, her knuckles white with the tension in them. I could barely get a bite down, the bland meal tasting like sawdust in my throat. I had an inkling of what was to come - Mila had been distant, unable to look my way and barely uttering a word to either of us - she was struggling, too.
We finally finished our dinner and stacked the dishwasher, Monique and I awkwardly stepping around each other, as if any contact would turn us both to stone. A soft knock on the rear door let us know Mila had arrived.
Monique didn’t even look at me as she strode over to the door, letting my stepsister in. They hugged stiffly, and I looked away, feeling confused and drained.
We all sat down at the kitchen table; Mila took a deep breath, and I waited for the whole world to come crashing around our heads.
She glanced at me for a second, her eyes full of guilt, and I bit my tongue while my heart raced, pumping with adrenaline. I think I knew what was going to happen before
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