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“I’m sorry,” I said into my knees.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
I looked up finally. It was with wonder that I stared at him in his soaking wet boxer briefs, and at the same moment, sadness crossed his face.
“I should never have let things get this far. I’m so sorry,” I said, exhaling a shaky breath.
He rose and turned off the water before stepping out of the shower. I stood gingerly, and he wrapped me in a towel, securing my arms to my body. He guided me onto the edge of the bathtub, squatted on his heels and looked up at me. “Let what get so far?”
“I thought I would change my mind. I thought being with you would change everything, but . . . it hasn’t. I still feel the same.”
“I don’t understand, Olivia,” he said, touching my jaw. His thumb rubbed over my cheek tenderly.
I took a deep breath, thankful that there were no tears left in me. Then I said it. “I don’t want children.”
I watched his hand withdraw immediately, and then I blinked to his expressionless face. I tried desperately to read his reaction, but he gave nothing away. When he didn’t respond, I continued. “I’ve seen you with Alex. I know you’ll be an incredible father. I know that’s what you want. I can see it. I’m sorry for waiting this long to tell you, but . . .” I paused when my voice wavered. “I honestly thought we had more time.”
I was wrong. I was not cried out. Tears began to spill again, sliding down my cheeks and dropping into my lap.
He looked away and focused on the tiled wall. I was grateful, because it gave me a moment to trace the lines of his jaw with my eyes, to memorize the curve of his magnificent lips and the chestnut, golden color of his eyes. He really was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. And he’d almost been mine.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the wall. “I don’t know what to say.”
I nodded, stood from the perch and walked to the bed. I slid between the sheets and covered my face with my hands.
~
“Olivia.”
I opened my eyes to a dark room. My towel was wrapped under my armpits, and my pillow was damp. I sat up slowly, trying to orient myself.
There was a movement next to the bed, and David’s figure sharpened in the dark. He leaned forward, and the bedside lamp turned on.
“What time is it?” I mumbled.
“Three in the morning.”
“Have you slept?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
“No. I’ve been downstairs thinking.” I noticed a towel in his hands as he climbed in bed behind me. He straddled me and ran the towel through my hair, scrubbing lightly. “What did I tell you about going to bed with wet hair?” he admonished quietly.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said with a quivering chin.
He continued to pat my hair tenderly and when it was as dry as possible, he threw the towel and my pillow on the floor. He instructed me to turn and face him and when I did, my shoulders slumped forward. “Do you want children?” I asked.
“I always imagined I would have them. I haven’t thought much about it lately. I assumed it was what you wanted and so . . . I thought it was what I wanted too.”
I gave him a shallow nod. “I understand. I should have told you.”
“I should’ve asked.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered, looking down. “It’s no one’s fault.” After a brief pause, I said, “I think it’s best if I give you space right now.”
He was quiet as he sat cross-legged before me in his plaid pajama pants. “What do you mean?”
“You need to take time away from me to process this.”
“Don’t tell me what I need.”
I looked up. “But you should.”
“I don’t need time. I don’t want to lose you, so we’ll find an answer.”
“There’s no answer, David. I could never take fatherhood from you.”
“I can make my own decisions.”
“I know you can.”
He shook his head and looked away. “Every time we get close, you run. Now you’re trying to get me to run. I can’t help but feel like you’re sabotaging this. It sounds like you want me to leave you.”
“Of course I don’t want that,” I said immediately, “but the only thing worse than you leaving would be you resenting me years down the line because I took this away from you.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot, and I have some questions.”
“Okay.” I dipped my head into a nod.
“Why don’t you want children?”
“I don’t have the desire. I can’t see it in my future, and if I can’t see it with you, I know I never will.”
“Can you see me in your future?”
“Yes,” I said emphatically. “You’re all I see.”
“Does this have something to do with your mom? Are you afraid?”
I sighed. “Bill said the same thing.”
“Because you aren’t her. You would make a phenomenal mom. You are loving. You have so much to give when you let yourself.”
I blinked at him. Did I? Was I this warm and loving creature David thought I was, or was I the cold and heartless monster Bill had accused me of being? Could I be warm, loving and selfless and still not want children? With soft determination, I said, “You’re right. I’m not her. I would never be the type of parent she was.”
