Her days began with appointments—first hopeful, then desperate. Fertility clinics, herbal teas, whispered prayers. Luke said all the right things, voice gentle, eyes promising forever. Yet, sometimes Selena caught him watching her with a flicker of something unreadable, as if measuring his patience against her body's betrayals.
One morning, as Selena prepared tea, Luke stepped in quietly. "You're up early. Couldn't sleep?"
Selena shook her head, her eyes tracing the rim of the mug. "Just thinking. About... everything, really."
Luke reached out, touching her hand. "We'll get through this. Together."
Her mother, forever brisk, offered platitudes: "It'll happen, darling, just relax." But her mother-in-law's glances, sharp as knitting needles, pricked at Selena's worth.
At night, Selena's dreams were haunted by tiny hands and laughter that faded with the dawn. She woke with tears drying on her cheeks, heart pounding with fear that she was somehow incomplete—unworthy.
One night, as rain pattered against the windowpane, Selena found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling. Luke was beside her, his breathing steady, but his hand curled tightly in the sheets. She turned to face him.
"Luke, do you ever wonder if maybe... maybe we're not meant to have children?" Her voice quivered, barely more than a whisper.
He stroked her hair, his thumb tracing gentle circles. "Selena, love, we have each other. That's enough for me. We'll keep hoping. And if it doesn't happen... We'll face it together."
They clung to each other, but the words lingered in the air, unspoken worries coiling between them. Friends' baby showers became painful obligations. Selena's mother, though well-meaning, often said, "You two are still young. There's plenty of time," not realising how each platitude pressed salt into a wound.