I gained confidence in myself and brainstormed business ideas.I was going to share a strategy I’d put together, hoping he’d be impressed and change his mind, when Adam accused me of being infertile and said I needed to see a fertility specialist.
That was just over a year ago.
A year of being off birth control pills and still no baby.Even I was a little surprised.But his constant accusations of being infertile had irritated me.Of course, I couldn’t tell him it had only been a year since I’d stopped the pills.He would have been furious.
The doctor knew.
And so, we had a plan we worked on together.
My job was to placate him.
“Are you staying home today?”I asked one morning, snuggling up to my husband a few months ago.
He cupped my bare breast, flicking my nipple as he climbed over me.My body reacted, but I was sore from the soulless sex over the past few days.
I was ovulating.
The window had passed, but Adam pushed.
The love felt like it had gone between us.I was nothing more than a baby-making machine for him.It was all he talked about when he was home, which wasn’t often.
“You should be with child.”He pressed inside me, determination on his face as I closed my eyes and let him do what was needed.“I’m not happy, wife.”
Familiar shame crashed down over me as it did every time he mentioned it, as if it were my fault.
Now I felt he could be right.It was over a year, and I still had youth on my side at almost twenty-six.
He came inside me, then shoved a pillow under my ass.“I’ll have a shower.You stay there.”
“I know the drill.”I rolled my eyes, tossing my arm over my face.
Next thing I knew, he was leaning over me with a scowl.“Perhaps if you lose that attitude, Courtney, you might be pregnant.”
I gasped and shoved him.“That’s not how babies are made, Adam; get off me!”
It was the first time he’d scared me.
He straightened and covered me with the sheet angrily.“I’ve done my part.Now you do yours.Can’t believe I chose a malfunctioning womb.”
I flushed with anger and disgust.
“How dare you!”I sat up on my elbows, and he nudged me down.
“It’s been six years since we got married.I told you back then I wanted a family.I shouldn’t have waited.I’m thirty-six, Courtney.If you can’t fucking conceive, then I want that fucking doctor to tell me.”
He’d pushed for information months ago, but doctor-patient privilege restricted him from getting it.Thank goodness.
That morning, Adam walked into our ensuite bathroom, wondering if the problem was me.
Was I infertile?
Or was it psycho-symptomatic, which was a real thing?Perhaps deep down I wanted more time before becoming a mother?
Guilt washed over me, and I decided I needed to give it my all.So I did.I went to all the appointments, ate all the right food, and tossed all the toxic products in our home.I did yoga, visualizations, went insane...
Nothing changed.
Adam became increasingly impatient and agitated, leading to that fated day.Never in our entire marriage had Adam physically hurt me.Emotionally, yes.Psychologically, I was aware he was controlling, but given where I’d come from in life, I never thought I had the right to complain.
