by Elle Keating
“Fuck yeah, I’m frustrated. I can’t impregnate my wife because when she was eighteen she got herself knocked up by some shithead. A shithead who, according to you, shall remain nameless.”
“I can’t believe what you’re saying to me right now,” she said. With her fists clenched at her sides, she stared her husband down.
“No? So I’m lying? You didn’t get pregnant the first time you had sex? You didn’t go almost three months before finding out that your one reckless night had resulted in a pregnancy and later a miscarriage that would cause irreversible damage to your body?”
Initially, Morgan hadn’t told anyone about her miscarriage except Allison. But as each month went by and they were not conceiving naturally, she thought that it was best to talk to a doctor. She had expected to hear the doctor say that she was overreacting, that these things take time, that it would happen when Mother Nature intended. So she was completely floored when the doctor had told her one evening after several extensive tests, that scar tissue was the culprit for her fertility woes. Before Morgan could put two and two together, the doctor had proceeded to tell her that the scar tissue was most likely caused by the miscarriage and D & C procedure she had experienced years ago. Morgan had no choice but to tell Owen about what had happened to her when she was eighteen. He had been sympathetic, even understanding when she gave him the abridged version, which didn’t reveal Jake’s identity.
So it surprised and annoyed the shit out of her that he was throwing that night, that moment that still haunted her every minute of the day, back in her face. Morgan broke the stare-down and retrieved a duffel bag from her closet. She went to her bureau, tossed a few shirts and sweats into the bag, and started for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
She stopped in the doorway. “I think we need to cool off. I’m going to my mom’s. I’ll be back on Sunday.”
Owen didn’t tell her not to go. He didn’t apologize for being a dick. He just let her walk out the door.
Morgan pulled into her mom’s driveway in New Jersey five and a half hours later. She had called ahead and told her mom that she was coming and that it was best to have some wine ready when she got there. It was while she was sipping her second glass of Chardonnay, venting and feeling more relaxed than she had in months, that she told her mom everything. Her mom remained silent as Morgan unloaded on her. It was difficult to admit, even to her mom, what had happened. She would never forgive herself for what she had done. A baby had been conceived and had died because of her. Jake’s baby. The child he would never know existed in the first place.
With tears in her eyes, her mom held her hand as she told her about the months following the miscarriage. Surprisingly, Morgan learned that explaining how she had coped was the most painful. It had been a dark time. Even now the details of those months were muddied. She remembered going to class, exercising, and playing hockey. She remembered studying and taking tests and miraculously passing them. She remembered working her ass off at the coffee house around the corner from her dorm to pay off the hospital bills she had accrued. It was as if her body had been set on autopilot, able to function and perform what was expected, but she had been left numb and forever scarred.
Allison had been wonderful, trying to drag her back into the world of the living every chance she got. Allison never grew angry when Morgan declined her invites to hang out or even to study together. She never lost patience with her or told her to ‘get over it.’ She had just waited in the wings, ready to swoop in when Morgan was ready.
Even in her numb state Morgan had recognized that she needed help, that she had dug herself into a hole that was insurmountable. But that would mean sharing her story with a stranger and that wasn’t going to happen. She had pictured herself lying on some therapist’s leather couch, spewing her secrets while the doctor scribbled in his notebook. He would empathize, of course, provide her comfort, tell her that it wasn’t her fault, collect his fees and have her schedule her next visit with his secretary on her way out. It wasn’t her stubborn personality that had told her that seeking out a shrink was pointless. She just knew that therapy wasn’t going to work, that no amount of talking was going to rid her of the image that was burned in her mind. She would never forget the moment she witnessed her baby’s heart cease to beat. How that flicker had been snuffed out right before her eyes.
So she had decided on rounds and rounds of self-therapy, which had been an exhausting regimen of working, studying, and playing hockey. She no longer found joy in hockey. She had engaged in the sport she once loved because if she hadn’t, her scholarship would have been taken away. Luckily, her hockey skills had been good enough to carry her through. It didn’t matter that her desire to win, that love for the game she once thought was unshakeable, had dried up the day she lost her baby.
When she wasn’t on the hockey field, she was studying or working at Jenkin’s Coffee House. She had just pulled a tray of chocolate croissants out of the oven and placed them on a cooling rack when Owen walked through Jenkin’s door. He had strolled up to the counter and ordered a large coffee and a chocolate croissant. He had smiled at her as she fixed his coffee to his liking. She had smiled back, not to flirt, but to be kind. She had rung him up and he paid with a twenty. She had been getting his change when he told her to keep it. Morgan wasn’t comfortable accepting such a big tip and had attempted to hand him the fifteen dollars and twenty-five cents he was due. He had smiled again and had shaken his head. She had asked him to take it, but he’d politely refused and left the shop.
Owen had come back a few days later but instead of tipping her, he had asked her to dinner. She had refused and told him that she was busy. Although he had appeared disappointed, he remained gracious and had given her a warm smile and left. But that wasn’t the last of him. Owen had become a frequent flyer, and after three months he had finally worn her down and she’d agreed to go out with him. He had taken her to one of the most expensive restaurants in town and poured on the charm. But it wasn’t his money, his good looks, or the fact that he was an established veterinarian that she had been drawn to. It was the way he had carried himself, the way he had made it known that it was his job, his duty, to take care of her. And that was what she had needed at that moment in time. She had wanted to be taken care of. She didn’t want to think too hard, try too hard, when it came to relationships. She had wanted decisions to be made for her because she was too tired, too broken, to make them for herself.
Owen had fulfilled his role beautifully and within the year he had put a ring on her finger and asked her to be his wife. They had eloped and were married on a beach in St. Lucia. It had been a beautiful ceremony, the scenery gorgeous.
But Morgan knew even as she had told the minister, “I do,” that she was making a mistake. All she could think of was Jake. How it should have been him standing before her, smiling at her, loving her. But like a coward, she had gone through with it and had become Morgan Chatsworth… not Morgan McGinnis.
Morgan had moved into Owen’s home. She had gone to class and worked alongside Owen in his clinic, getting hands-on training and learning what it took to run a practice. As when they were dating, Owen had made things easy. She no longer had to worry about money, which bill would have to go to the wayside due to lack of funds, or which brand of ramen noodles she should choose from. He had taken care of her, was kind and supportive, and over time she had grown to love him in her own way. But no amount of time or money would make her fall for him completely. She had never felt consumed when he kissed her or envisioned them holding hands as they strolled leisurely on the beach years from now when they were old and gray.
Nevertheless, Morgan imagined that their marriage was more secure than most. They had a lot in common. Besides sharing the same career, he enjoyed playing and watching sports, loved to exercise, and take in movies. He had come from a loving home, had parents who were proud and doting whenever he went home to visit. From an outsider’s perspectiv
e he was the perfect son, the perfect husband.
But you can only fly so high for so long. Owen’s perfect world had come tumbling down when they found out about her fertility problems. Morgan had been devastated when the doctor told her how difficult it would be to get pregnant naturally. But Owen had stayed by her side, being supportive, and not judging her for getting pregnant when she was eighteen. He had been optimistic when he told her that they would get through it, that he would do anything in his power to ensure they had a child. It had been a noble thing for him to say, even sweet… but foolish. He had quickly realized that for the first time in his life, he could not control the situation, that he would be forced to be a helpless bystander. He hadn’t taken kindly to that role. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. He wasn’t used to disappointment.
Morgan wasn’t surprised to see him become frustrated. It was a normal reaction, a common emotion any husband and wife would experience after multiple failed in vitro attempts. She felt awful to have caused him distress. After all, it was her fault that they were forced to seek alternative ways to conceive. But Morgan wouldn’t give up. She had refused to allow her body to betray her. But with each failed attempt, Owen had become more distant. His patience had officially run out. Why else would he have said the things he said? Why else would he have thrown a lamp against the wall in anger and reminded her that it had been her miscarriage, her reckless behavior, that had brought them to this point? He had never spoken to her like that before, with such vehemence and disgust. He had no control of his emotions and Morgan had only herself to blame. She had made her typically reserved and loving husband lose it because she’d had unprotected sex when she was a teenager.
With the wine bottle drained and her story complete, Morgan sat across the kitchen table and waited for her mom to speak. Tears stained her mom’s cheeks and again a wave of shame pounded Morgan from all sides.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.” Morgan choked out an apology and let her own tears flow freely.
“I know why you didn’t tell me about the baby. About Jake. God, you’re so strong… and so stubborn.” Her mom let go of her hand and lightly grabbed her by the chin. “There is nothing you can say that will make me love you less. I didn’t think I could be any prouder than I am of you… but you continue to prove me wrong.”
“But… how… I mean, didn’t you hear what I said? Jake and I were together and got pregnant. And then a few months later, I had a miscarriage… I killed my baby because I didn’t take care of myself.”
Her mom’s hand fell away. “Morgan, you did no such thing. Miscarriages happen. You know that. I see it every day at the hospital. Why do you think this way?”
“Maybe if I had known I was pregnant. If I hadn’t been exercising, I… ”
“Stop, Morgan. Many pregnant women exercise, many to term. But more importantly, I know you. I know how you eat. I know that you didn’t smoke, that you weren’t much of a partier. I know that there wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do that could have caused you to lose your baby.”
Morgan wanted to believe her mom. But that little voice in her head wouldn’t let up. She was responsible for her baby’s demise… not Mother Nature. “Jake can never know, Mom. I didn’t tell him because… what good would it have done? He had his entire life ahead of him, and a career that he had always dreamt of was within his grasp. I couldn’t derail that. He would have been… ”
“Heartbroken,” her mom said, taking the word out of her mouth.
Morgan knew his heart. He would have grieved with her and shared her sorrow. The loss would have fucked with his head like it did with hers. She never wanted him to experience that level of pain. She loved him too much.
“Jake has the life he always wanted. He’s happy and that’s all that matters,” Morgan said with a forced smile.
Her mom stared at her for a few seconds and then said, “I want you to be happy, Morgan.”
“I will be. Owen and I just need to figure things out.” Morgan squeezed her mom’s hand before she stood from her chair. She was on her way to the bathroom when she caught sight of the compilation of photos on the hallway wall. They had been there as long as she could remember, but now she took the time to study each one. Almost every picture had at least one McGinnis sibling in it. One memory in particular consisted of Morgan and Brennan. He had been giving her a piggyback ride in his backyard and racing against Gabe and Carina. Brennan and Morgan had beaten them by just inches.
It hit her immediately. Why hadn’t she thought about adoption before? Gabe, Luke and Brennan had been adopted by the McGinnises and look at how their lives turned out. Those three brothers were lost little boys until Pop and Aunt Lu had come along and rescued them and had given them a wonderful life. Why couldn’t she and Owen do that for a child?
Morgan fell asleep that night researching the adoption process on her iPhone. She awoke the next morning excited and itching to get home. She apologized to her mom for cutting her trip short and left for Boston. She couldn’t wait to talk to Owen about the possibility of adopting a child. She didn’t think he would be against it, as one of his sisters had been adopted at the age of two.
Morgan had made good time. As she pulled into her driveway, her belly was doing somersaults as she replayed the conversation she wanted to have with Owen. She was anxious to talk to him, but she knew how they had left things. Was he still angry with her? Morgan entered through the front door and instantly she felt something was off. There was a smell in the air, perfume that was all too familiar. Morgan’s heart raced as she scanned her surroundings and zeroed in on the trail of clothing leading up to the second floor. Like Gretel, she followed the breadcrumbs up the stairs, picking up a woman’s blouse, a mini skirt and a bra and matching panties as she ascended. The trail ended at the threshold of her bedroom. Her bedroom door was wide open. She stood in silence and watched the receptionist from her vet practice ride Owen like a mechanical bull.
Chloe had started working at Owen and Morgan’s vet practice six months ago. Morgan had initially liked Chloe, as she was not afraid of the clients and her communication skills were good. But within weeks Chloe had grown lazy and her true colors had come out. Morgan had told Owen that they may need to replace her with someone who didn’t roll her eyes every time she was asked to file something or perform a duty that was well within her job description. But Owen had balked and defended Chloe, saying that she was young and would learn.
Yeah, learn how to fuck her husband.
Owen’s groans triggered Morgan’s gag reflex and she stepped into the bedroom. “Hi, honey, I’m home. Miss me?”
Chloe leaped off her husband’s dick and scrambled to cover herself. She pulled the sheets, sheets Morgan slept on every night, around her petite frame and stood there trembling. Owen also moved quickly and grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from the floor and yanked them up. It wasn’t until his condom-covered dick was back in his pants that he spoke. “Morgan, let me explain. Please. Holy shit!”
“Explain what? I’m pretty clear on what I just saw.” Morgan didn’t cry. She didn’t yell. She remained eerily calm even when she told Chloe to get the fuck out of her house. Morgan dropped Chloe’s clothes on the floor and watched the bitch run over and gather her things. Chloe attempted to dress herself as she stumbled down the stairs. Her blouse wasn’t even buttoned when she flew out the front door. With Chloe gone, Morgan was able to put all her attention on Owen. She looked him in the eye and waited for him to speak.
Go on. I dare you. Try to defend yourself.
“Morgan, I’m sorry.” His face was flushed but she couldn’t tell if his red cheeks were from embarrassment or from being ridden by Chloe.
There was no script for a situation like this. And though there was nothing he could say to change her mind, she needed to know a few things first before she left him. Because there was no other way for this to end. She wasn’t going to seek marriage counseling or work through their fucking problems. Cheating was a deal brea
ker for her.
“How long have you been screwing her?”
“Two months.” Owen looked away, avoiding her eyes at all costs.
Two months. Right around the time he had started to drift away from her, when he had emotionally shut down and held her at arm’s length. The signs had been there, but Morgan didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want to believe that her husband could stray, especially not while they were trying to have a baby.
Owen’s voice brought her back from her thoughts. “If you would have just gotten pregnant, this wouldn’t have happened. You’ve been so irritable, so emotional. I wouldn’t have been forced to… ”
He went there. She couldn’t fucking believe it. Bastard.
“Forced to fuck another woman? To engage in the one thing, the only thing that could make me leave you?”
The embarrassment she thought she saw in his eyes, that shame he definitely deserved to feel, swiftly turned to panic. He knew she wasn’t bluffing. Morgan had told Owen about her dad, how he had cheated on her mom and ripped her family apart. He knew she would never tolerate cheating in their marriage… ever.
“So this is it? You’re ending our marriage over a two-month fling?” His tone switched from panic-stricken to accusatory, which pissed her off.
“Not just the marriage, sweetheart, but our partnership. Consider our working partnership dissolved as well.”
“Just like that? I treated you good. I took care of you. Because of me you went from living in some crappy apartment to living here, where you never had it so good. I was what you needed, what you wanted. You can say goodbye to me that easily?”
Morgan’s anger receded, and she let herself digest everything he had said. He was right. He had been everything she needed after she left Jake. She had been beaten down, her heart torn apart when Owen had walked into her life. He had seen her waving that invisible white flag and knew, without even asking, what she wanted. She had needed him to help her pick up the pieces of her life and move forward with someone who could be kind and loving.