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I want to have a baby. Ignatius Beauchamp’s baby, to be precise. I didn’t pick apart the reason for my sudden urge to become impregnated, I didn’t rationalize, or weigh the pros and cons to this. I didn’t think in a grandiose life-changing realization that I’d lived through so much death and despair and horror that I wanted to bring love and life into the world. I didn’t do any of that.
What I did do was wake up one morning and the first thing I saw was Ignatius’ face. I felt overwhelmingly lucky. This man loved me, and I loved him, and we’ve been through hell together and we survived. In that quiet early morning moment as the sun shone through the window in the Beauchamp plantation house, there wasn’t anything I wanted more than what I had. This man and sharing a simple life with him.
What is the ultimate gift of love?
A baby.
Family.
All those years I spent running away from my heritage and my legacy, the culmination of all the generations that flowed through my veins. If there is one thing I can be grateful to Bertrand for, it’s forcing me to realize that family is all you have, it’s all there is and everything that will always be.
I resigned from the force. Not because I’d been traumatized. The whole ordeal was horrible, there’s no question about that, but I’m stronger than that. I left the department because I wasn’t running anymore. I was ready to stop and breathe. I was ready to live.
I was ready to begin my life with Ignatius.
“Well, what do you know,” the doctor mumbles.
“What is it?” I ask, peering down at the woman between my legs as Ignatius stands quietly by. I wonder what he’s thinking as he watches a woman examine my vagina.
I was a nervous wreck the entire drive across town to the OBGYN’s office. I tried not to show it, I didn’t want Ignatius to see how much this whole trying to get pregnant thing was affecting me. I believe that’s why he went to Hattie for help. I’m certain she gave him a fertility doll. The two of them have been whispering amongst themselves quite a lot lately every opportunity they get.
I wouldn’t allow myself to contemplate I couldn’t get pregnant. I just needed time. I’d been through a lot. Even though it was mental trauma, the mind causes havoc on the body and affects you physically. It was possible my body was still in freak-out mode and was rejecting everything.
Even Ignatius’ sperm.
I think I’m holding my breath as I wait for the doctor to say something. My ovaries are broken, my uterus has a hole in it. I’m really a man, and my penis is actually an inny. Anything to explain why I’m not big and fat with child.
My eyes are fixed on the doctor as she wiggles her fingers around inside me. Her gaze is locked on the wall with her lip caught between her teeth in concentration.
I’m about ready to slam her head between my knees if she doesn’t answer me.
“Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”
We’re fucking pregnant!
Of course, we’re pregnant, because this woman is magical and she’s all mine.
I lean down and cup her cheek as I stare into her eyes and watch the first happy tear slide down her cheek. “You did it, Dominique. We’re going to have a baby.”
“We did it, Mr. Beauchamp. And I’m so happy.”
“I want to do a sonogram, if you don’t mind,” the doctor cuts in as she stands and snaps the vinyl gloves from her hands.
I see the worry cloud Dominique’s face. “Is there a problem?”
The doc moves the machine next to Dominique’s bed, messes with a few knobs and buttons, then picks up a bottle. “No, I don’t believe there is. However, I just want to have a look.” She lowers the sheet covering Dominique’s abdomen, then raises her gown. The doctor continues, “I know you’ve been spotting irregularly since your abduction.” Fucking Bertrand! “This is the first month you’ve actually missed your cycle completely since you two began trying to get pregnant.” Her eyes move back and forth from Dominique to me as she squirts the jell onto Dominique’s pelvis. “How many months has that been?” she questions.
“Four months.”
The doctor nods. “I see.”
What? What is it you see exactly?!
She picks up the apparatus that’s attached to the machine.
“I can appreciate your need for delicacy, but we would like more direct information,” I state, trying very hard to remain civil for Dominique’s sake, but if she doesn’t give us some real information, I’m going to end up in jail again.
With her eyes locked on the monitor, the doctor starts to glide the thing over Dominique’s abdomen. Suddenly the only noise in the room is coming from the machine as we all watch for signs of life inside Dominique.
