Page 38 of Enemies, Lovers & A Valentine's Baby

For now, it’s enough.

Chapter 13

Despair

Lila

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

I lie in bed, counting along with the alarm clock that sits on my nightstand, as the seconds tick past slowly.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

The seconds will morph into minutes, then hours and days.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here. Days? Weeks? I’m not sure. It’s all a blur, and at this point, time is the last thing I care about. Unfortunately, it’s all I have.

Seemingly endless amounts of time. Except for the one thing that matters most.

I was supposed to have time to have babies, and watch my children grow up. I was supposed to have late-night baking sessions with my girls, filled with giggles and endless gossiping about which boys they liked, and being nosy with my boys about which girls they thought were pretty.

I would introduce them to all the musical classics—not whatever this generation is into, and we would twirl around the kitchen while we made dinner on busy nights to Michael Bublé’s sway. I’d pass on all the lessons I’d learned from my parents. My boys would be the kind of gentlemen who held the doors open for ladies and brought them flowers because soft love was all they’d ever known. My girls would be loving women, because that’s the life they would have been exposed to and they would settle for nothing less.

I was supposed to give them a childhood just like I’d had, watching both my parents who were so full of love for each other.

Now, all of that has been taken away. I should have listened to Dr. Vincent all the years he’s been trying to get me to think of my fertility, and even consider freezing my eggs. I just never thought for even a second that there was a possibility that I would not be able to have kids.

What woman does? It’s just supposed to happen.

A whimper slips past my dry, cracked lips. Then an animalistic sound, something between a growl and a sob, comes from somewhere deep inside of me. I clutch at my chest, struggling to breathe through the pain that is tearing through my body. My heart contracts tightly in my chest, sending little spasms of pain that tear through me, shooting from my chest down to my feet.

I lie there, gasping for breath, my lungs feeling too heavy, like they’re corroded with steel. The tears stream down my face as I bite my fist to muffle the sounds. From whom, I have no idea. From myself?

For a second, I contemplate letting go. Why am I even trying to breathe when everything I need breath for is gone?

At least I’d finally get some peace. Some relief from the voices in my head that seem to have no end to the torture.

The small chandelier that hangs above my bed starts to blur, and my chest is burning. Just when my eyes start to slither shut, an image flashes behind my closed eyelids. My dad holding my mom, twirling her around our small kitchen. Her soft laughter seems to echo, both their eyes sparkling as they seemingly stare into each other’s souls. I remember that day. I would have been around seven. It was my first conscious understanding of love.

The day I knew that was exactly what I wanted for myself.

With a sharp gasp, I take in a lungful of air, my eyes flying open. I jerk, pulling my body up into a sitting position. Heart thumping violently in my chest, I take in huge gulps of air, eyes looking like a wild animal’s.

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