Chapter 3: Something Felt Different

"Oh, that?"

He answered so quickly that I barely had time to finish my sentence.

"It was probably the little girl I carried at the office."

I looked up at him.

"What little girl?"

"One of my colleagues brought her five-year-old daughter to the office. She was waiting for her father to pick her up, but the man was running late. The little girl was really clingy, so I carried her for a while."

He didn't hesitate. He didn't even blink.

"Oh."

My fingers loosened around his tie.

A five-year-old girl.

I looked down, and the smile slipped from my face.

Five years.

That was how long Adrian and I had been married, and I still didn't have a child to call my own.

I wondered what it would feel like to have a little one run into my arms, call me Mummy, and refuse to let go.

Would Adrian carry our child around like that?

Would he look at our baby with the same excitement he showed when talking about his business?

Or would I have to beg for even that little bit of affection?

"What are you thinking about in that strange head of yours?"

Adrian tapped my forehead lightly.

"Don't give yourself depression over this. We're not the ones who make children, are we?"

I forced my eyes back to his face.

"We'll have one, three, or even eight when the time comes, okay?"

He smiled and leaned down to kiss my forehead.

"All right, I'm running late. Goodbye, baby."

He grabbed his things and hurried out.

I stood there for a moment, my fingers resting against the spot where he'd kissed me.

Eight children.

He'd said it so easily, as though having a child were something we could simply decide to do.

I wished I could believe him.

*****

Afternoon

I headed downstairs to prepare lunch for Adrian. Since he had been so excited about the contract, I thought bringing him a meal at the office might brighten his day even more.

But as I reached the living room, I stopped.

My mother-in-law sat on the sofa with three of her friends. They were chatting and laughing, completely at ease.

I was about to walk past them when one of the women noticed me.

"Oh, Mrs Black, have you hired a new maid?"

She glanced at me, then turned to my mother-in-law with a deliberately puzzled expression.

"Is that who she is?"

The other women exchanged looks.

My mother-in-law's lips curled into a smile.

"At least a maid has a title and knows what she's supposed to do. That's better than someone who has a title but contributes nothing to the house. She's nothing but a piece of decoration."

Laughter erupted around the room.

I stood frozen, the lunch container in my hands suddenly feeling heavier.

They were talking about me.

My mother-in-law knew perfectly well who I was, yet she sat there insulting me as though I weren't even her son's wife.

I wanted to walk away.

I wanted to tell them that I was a human being, not a piece of furniture they could mock whenever they pleased.

But my feet wouldn't move.

"Honestly," another woman said, shaking her head, "aren't you going to tell your son to divorce her? There are plenty of women out there with healthy, fertile wombs. Women who could give your family children, even quadruplets!"

She laughed.

"This one is destined to end your family line."

The words struck me so hard that I forgot how to breathe for a moment.

"Exactly!" another woman chimed in. "Mrs Black, you really need to do something about this. Look at me. I already have three grandchildren, and my daughter-in-law is pregnant again. And guess what? It's another boy this time!"

"Congratulations!"

The women turned their attention to her, showering her with praise.

I stood among their laughter, feeling as though I had somehow become invisible and painfully exposed at the same time.

Three grandchildren.

Another baby on the way.

And me?

I couldn't even give Adrian one.

My eyes burned. I blinked quickly, but the tears came anyway, blurring the faces before me.

My phone rang.

I glanced at the screen.

Mum.

For one desperate second, I wanted to answer. I wanted to hear her voice, to tell her how tired I was of trying so hard to please everyone, and to let myself cry without worrying about being judged.

But if I opened my mouth, I knew the tears would come pouring out.

I couldn't let that happen here.

I pressed the phone against my chest and hurried toward the kitchen.

*****

An hour and a few minutes later, the food was packed and ready.

I wiped my hands, picked up the container, and headed out to deliver Adrian's lunch.

By the time I arrived at his company, I'd managed to compose myself. I straightened my clothes, lifted my chin, and walked through the entrance.

I wasn't going to let anyone see how much I'd cried.

I approached the reception desk, intending to head straight to Adrian's office, but one of the receptionists stepped forward to stop me.

"Excuse me, madam. How may we help you?"

I paused.

"You can't just walk in like that," she added, eyeing me from head to toe.

I tightened my grip on the lunch container.

"I'm here to see Adrian."

The receptionist glanced at her computer, then back at me.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

She gave me a look that made it clear she wasn't going to let me pass.

"I'm sorry, madam, but you can't see him without an appointment."

Before I could respond, another employee approached the desk. The moment he saw me, recognition flashed across his face.

"Wait. She's the boss's wife."

The receptionist's expression changed immediately.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't recognize you."

"It's fine."

I didn't wait for another apology. I simply walked past the desk and headed toward Adrian's office.

The truth was, only a handful of employees recognized me as their boss's wife. I rarely visited the company, and Adrian hardly ever spoke about me at work.

Still, I didn't let it bother me.

I was here to bring my husband lunch, nothing more.

I reached his office a few minutes later.

The lunch container was still warm in my hands as I approached the door.

I was just about to open it when a woman's playful voice drifted from inside.

I stopped.

My fingers froze on the handle.

Then the woman laughed.

And I stood there, staring at the closed door, unable to convince myself that I hadn't heard what I heard.