When I glanced up at him, my gaze landed on the faint hickey peeking out from the nape of his neck. The sight sent a jolt through me, clearing the haze his charm had cast. The world slowed and every affectionate word he spoke turned hollow in my ears.
“Hubby,” I murmured, stepping back. My voice wavered but carried resolve. “Can I stop taking the ovulation injections? It’s been so long and I’m tired. I… I want to give up.”
His reaction was immediate. His dark eyes misted over and he reached for me, pulling me into his arms as though trying to shield me from my own words. “Dear,” he said, his voice filled with a tender ache, “you’ve worked so hard. But I really want a baby that belongs to us. Don’t you want to have a child for your husband?”
His words wrapped around me like a net, suffocating yet impossible to escape. He reached for the syringe, his movements steady but almost too rehearsed. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Hubby will do it for you, okay?”
I flinched, my heart pounding as I looked into his eyes. “Must I do this?” I whispered, desperate for a reprieve.