Page 1 of Irreplaceable

CHAPTERONE

“Why don’t you get dressed, and then we’ll talk?”

I nodded, staring at the ceiling tiles as I heard the snap of latex gloves, the trash open and close, then the door to the examining room. I blinked a few times, telling myself to move but struggling all the same. The paper rustled beneath me when I shifted, the sound echoing in the empty room.

Empty.

Vacant.

Just like my womb.

As with the two times before, the procedure hadn’t worked. I wasn’t actually pregnant, despite a positive test a few weeks earlier.

I’d been poked and prodded enough to have bruises dotting my arms. But other than my battered heart and a huge deficit in my savings account, I had nothing to show for all my efforts. What a waste of time and money.

With a heavy sigh, I pulled on my clothes and checked my hair in the mirror. Getting pregnant was supposed to be fun, joyful. Yet all I did was stress and despair. Were my eggs mature? Was the sperm clean? Of good quality? Was the syringe close enough to my cervix?

I tugged at the corners of my eyes, not wanting to cry—again. When I’d started this journey, I’d been so optimistic. So naïve. And while I still wanted to be a mom, I wondered if this was the universe’s way of telling me it simply wasn’t in the cards.

Still, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be pregnant. My hands hovered over my stomach, and I tried to envision it full with a child. Tried to picture what my child would look like.

Would they have straight brown hair like me? Would they have my green eyes and Cupid’s-bow lips? Or would they resemble their father—a man I’d never even met? A number in a database. Someone I’d selected during a drunken night with my girlfriends, chosen for his desirable traits—handsome, intelligent, a volunteer.

There was a knock at the door, and I shook my head to clear it. It didn’t really matter now. None of it mattered.

“Come in,” I called.

“Hey.” The nurse, Sylvia, peeked her head inside, the silver strands of her hair glinting beneath the fluorescent lights. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I sighed, dreading what came next.

She gave me a warm smile, and I followed her down the hall to Dr. Fulton’s office. I kept my eyes down, trying to ignore a woman I passed, her large belly everything I wanted. Avoiding the walls where smiling babies and happy families were on display.

I was thirty-seven, single, and childless. So, yeah, I was neither happy nor smiling because my life was so far off course from where I’d hoped to be by this age.

When I entered Dr. Fulton’s office, she glanced up at me from her computer and smiled. It was the type of smile that held pity, regret. The type that said to brace yourself.

“Harper. Come in.”

Her brown hair was tucked in a tidy bun, her legs crossed neatly, white lab coat pristine. I took the seat across from her, feeling as if I were going to my execution.

“Try not to get too discouraged,” she said once Sylvia had closed the door behind her. “The intrauterine insemination didn’t work, but it’s not all that uncommon.” She gave me a kind smile, her white teeth flashing brilliantly against her dark skin. “There are other options. This is just the beginning.”

And that was the problem. It already felt like this had been going on forever, and it was “just the beginning.” I nodded woodenly. When I’d started this journey, I’d opted for IUI because it was less expensive, less invasive, than other options. Now, after three failed attempts, three rounds of blood work, ultrasounds, and being pumped full of a stranger’s sperm by my doctor, I was…exhausted. Overwhelmed. Ready to throw in the towel.

I let out a deep sigh. Maybe it was time to accept that I just wasn’t meant to be a mom.

“Our next option,” Dr. Fulton continued without missing a beat, “is in vitro fertilization. It’s expensive and more invasive, but the success rates are higher.”

“How much higher?” I asked, not entirely sure whether I was referring to the cost or the chance of success.

I needed hard data. At my age, it felt as if I were in a race against time. I’d spent the last year preparing for this procedure—gathering the courage, picking the sperm donor, then making sure my hectic work schedule allowed me to have all the necessary appointments.

“Around forty percent, and I’d have to refer you to a specialist.”

“Forty?” I scoffed, nearly choking on the word. “That’s not great.”

“No.” She folded her hands on her desk. “And depending on your insurance, it could cost upward of $12,000 per cycle.”

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