There was a sickly familiar smell to the doctor’s waiting room. It was the third time you’d been there that week. Doctor Hobson had insisted that it was simple testing of your blood, but you could sense the uneasiness in her voice. You had come in a few weeks ago to get suggestions for the best ways to get pregnant with your husband, Aaron. Said husband was currently at his job after you convinced him that you would be fine on your own and you could handle the big bad doctor’s office, and he didn’t need to come find out your test results with you. He reluctantly let you come alone, although right then you would have given anything to hold his hand.
“(Y/N) Marquis?” Doctor Hobson’s voice ripped you out of your thoughts. You raised your hand and she smiled, a warm, comforting smile. “Come through with me.” You waded through the waiting room of coughing infants and elderly people that looked like they may have already been dead.
Once you got to the sanctuary of Doctor Hobson’s office, she sat you down and placed herself across from you, the smile on her face flickering slightly.
“Mrs Marquis...” She cleared her throat, as if trying to choke something out. “I’m sorry I have to tell you this, but you are infertile. You can’t have children.” Her voice drained out as you slowly attempted to process the information. Infertile. You weren’t stupid. You knew for a fact that that was a possibility as to why you couldn’t get pregnant after nearly a year of trying. But you denied it with all your might.
Eventually, a pamphlet was pressed into your palm, something about trauma, and she was ushering you out, a comforting arm slung around your shoulder. Your feet were touching the ground, but you couldn’t feel it. You felt like this wasn’t you, that you were watching a sad movie that you and Aaron would watch before a few tears were shed by you and him. Aaron. How the hell would you tell him this?
The moment you slipped into the car, reality hit you like a tonne of bricks and you burst into tears. You sobbed and sobbed, all the possibilities of what could happen now running through your head. After around twenty minutes of hopeless sobbing, you gathered yourself up enough to pull out of the car park and head home.
Your hands were shaking as you unlocked the door but not through sadness. The only emotion left in you was fury. You swung open the door with a bang and stormed in, throwing your bag somewhere on the other side of the room. Aaron wasn’t due home for another ten minutes which left you alone with your anger. It wasn’t a good mix. First started the screaming. Screams of pure anguish echoed through the house and it took you a moment to realize they were coming from you. Then the lamp beside the couch was smashed against the wall. The phone was ripped from its charger and thrown against the door. The wedding photo was smashed under your foot. You weren’t doing this though. It was as though a monster had invaded your body and all you could do was watch it destroy all you loved. You ended up against the wall, crying erratically into your hands. Speaking of hands, blood was pouring out of a couple of your knuckles as you had punched a fairly large hole in the wall.
“(Y/N)?” Your husband’s familiar voice resonated into the living room, followed by a loud gasp and footsteps thudding towards you.
“(Y/N)! Baby, talk to me! Please, what happened?! You’re bleeding, holy shit, what happened?” Aaron babbled, grabbing at your wrists, pleading for you to explain to him what happened. So you did. You told him it all. Well, more you spat it out, literal beads of spittle forming at your lips as you attempted to voice your pain.
Once it was all out in the open, an eerie silence covered both of you. You dared to peak out from your hands to face a distraught looking Aaron.
“Your...Yo-you can’t have kids?” he whispered, and judging by the crack in his voice, he was trying desperately to hold back his tears. Not trusting your speech, you shook your head, watching him drop his head. A tear splashed to the ground from his eye before he stood up abruptly. Your eyes followed his body, watching him begin to pace angrily.
“I can’t believe this…” he said, like it was a hassle to him. Suddenly, the anger from before roared back up and you stood to match him.
“You can’t believe this? YOU CAN’T BELIEVE THIS?” you repeated it, screaming at the top of your lungs the second time. He seemed taken aback but nonetheless he continued.
“I can’t believe you. If you had gotten the tests earlier, this could have been preventable (Y/N)!” he yelled, obviously trying to create an argument as to why he was so mad.
“NO, IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN AARON. I WAS BORN LIKE THIS. I COULDN’T HAVE PREVENTED IT IF I TRIED,” you screamed, squaring your shoulders and pressing closer to him.
“YOU KNOW I’VE ALWAYS WANTED KIDS. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT WOULD MEAN TO ME,” He screeched. You wanted to punch him.
“AND YOU KNOW THAT THAT’S ALL I WANT. I’M SORRY I CAN’T GIVE THAT TO YOU. I’M SORRY I’M NOT THE PERFECT WIFE YOU WISHED FOR. I’M SORRY WE CAN’T HAVE THE FAMILY YOU ALWAYS DREAMED OF. WHY DON’T YOU GO ASK BARBARA, I’M SURE SHE’D BE HAPPY TO GIVE YOU THAT, ALONG WITH THE BLOWJOB SHE GAVE YOU LAST WEEK.” You emphasized the last bit, screaming loud enough that the neighbours could have quite possibly called the cops. He let out a small, almost inhuman growl.
“This is your fucking fault,” he hissed before turning to storm out. You grabbed his arm, strong enough to get him to face you. “I’m fucking done talking about this (Y/N).” He said, shaking your grip but you forced him to face you. When he turned to you, you threw your wedding ring at him.
“Go fuck yourself.” He looked at the gold band that had fallen to his feet before running out the door, slamming it hard enough to make the entire house shake. You had a gut feeling that he had not just walked out your door, but also your life.
