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"But I don't have responsibilities for behavior or social obligations I would have as your wife."
"So, you've thought about it?"
Of course she had. Once she'd realized she loved him, Blythe had thought of little else. Could they make it work? But further tests had confirmed that even IVF would not give them a chance at having children together.
"I can't be your wife."
He stood from the bed, his glorious, naked body stiff with affront. "I don't recall asking you."
"No, of course you haven't. It's just talking about the future. We can't have that one."
"Because you don't want to be married to me."
Why did she have to answer that question when he'd never asked her if she would marry him? It was not fair.
He just stood there in silence, waiting for her reply.
"I didn't say that," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, emotion wracking her body. It was all she could do not to fly apart.
"You as good as said you will not marry me. You see no future for us."
She nodded, unable to force another word out of her tight throat.
"Which equates to you not wanting to marry me," he pointed out, his tone glacier cold and just as immovable.
She didn't want to marry him and be unable to give him the children a prince required.
And now that moment was upon her, Blythe realized how very much she did not want to tell him the truth of her lack. It hurt too much.
It shouldn't. She knew in her head that it should not.
The inability to have children did not make her less.
Only that was not how it felt to her heart, no matter what her brain said.
Blythe had never even thought of having children until she started sleeping with Tor. Now, her inability to get pregnant felt like her femininity, her very value as a human being was diminished.
It made no sense, but the feelings persisted, always hurting.
A hollow area in her soul had opened up and it left her feeling empty and useless.
Telling herself that she was not defined by her ability to procreate didn't help.
Because deep down, where that little girl who did not understand why her parents did not love her, resided, deep, deep down…Blythe did not believe it.
She was defective.
She was not enough.
She had never been enough.
If Tor loved her, Blythe might feel differently. But in three and a half years of sharing their bodies, he'd never spoken a word about love. He'd never even called her by an endearment that could be interpreted that way.
He called her a treasure, not darling, not beloved, not even sweetheart.
He might not love her, but there could be no denying that this conversation was hurting him too. His set expression wasn't revealing much, but his eyes? Those grey eyes were filled with emotion and none of it positive.
Even so, Blythe hurt too much to try to make Tor feel better about what had to happen. Her heart was hemorrhaging with loss.
