Surrogate for my husband's rival

"I've told you to stop seeking medical advices!" Andrew yelled, aggressively. He grabbed the papers from my hand and flung them across the room.

My happiness melted away as I watched the doctor's report scattered around the room. Those papers were supposed to be good news for both of us, but it seems it wasn't for Andrew.

"We've tried different methods. We've tried all the possible methods but for the past five years, none of them worked," his chest heaving up and down as he spoke.

"Are you not tired of listening to the doctor's apologies? Are you not tired of letting your hopes up just to let it down again?" he demanded harshly.

His question was a reminder of the storm we have been going through for the past five years. I am aware of all the sufferings I've been through. It is not an easy thing to forget all the disappointment I've gotten from the doctors.

Different doctors have given us hope just to let us down over and over again, but will that be the end of the road? No! Never! How can I give up at twenty-five? What would I tell my family or his family? How would I explain that I couldn't give the Walter family a child after five years of marriage?

I'm not barren, according to the doctor. I'm fine without health issues, but Andrew was the problem. He has always been the problem. Andrew has a low sperm count, almost impotent. His family are also aware of this, but that's my cup of tea.

According to his mother, sexual intercourse is not the only way to make babies. There are other medical ways to make children. Since then, I have taken it upon myself to get medical help but nothing was working, which has made everything become my fault, not Andrew's.

I stood in the center of the living room, the papers scattered around me. Tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but this wasn't the time to cry. I've cried all day, and I was tired of crying. Crying has never been the answer to my problem.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself together, bracing myself to argue with Andrew, if that's the only way to make him listen to me.

"Andrew," I started. "This childless burden has never been yours to carry," I said without thinking twice.

"It is not a secret that you are the problem, but whose fault is it that we can't make babies? Mine. Your family thinks it is my fault that you can't give them an heir to continue Walter's legacy."

Letting out a deep breath, I bent down to gather the doctor's report from the floor. Once I was done, I slammed it on the glass table in the middle of the living room.

"These reports are different from the ones we've been getting for the past five years. This doctor is willing to do everything for me without getting paid until we get a positive result," I said firmly, laying emphasis on the money aspect.

"The doctor is not interested in getting a dime from you or your family. Not everyone is interested in extorting from you. All she needs is your sperm from the sperm bank and surgery to plant them inside me." I explained to him, my voice firm and loud enough to make him hear everything I said.

To my greatest surprise, Andrew burst out laughing. The sound of his laugh filled the room, fueling my irritation with him. What is funny? I thought as I watched him display his stupidity.

"The doctor doesn't want my money. The doctor didn't want a dime from my family. Are you this dumb, Mirabel?" his words hit me like a heavy wave. "I thought you would have become clever after spending five years with me, but you are just as gullible as ever. You are easy to trick, easy to deceive and manipulate," he said, causing me to boil in rage.

"Just as your family manipulated me into a marriage with their impotent son. Just like the way I was deceived to believe I was the problem, not you," I spat, trying to control my anger.

"Don't bring my family into this," he growled.

"Or what?" I asked, stepping forward in a challenging way.

Sensing the challenge, he moved back, creating a decent space between us. "You and I know well that you agreed to marry me because of your desperation for freedom. You wanted to be the Cinderella who isn't chained to her stepmother, and you got it. You have got the freedom you want."

"I don't care about your delusional story. I don't care if you are not interested in this process or not. I will go ahead with the process and I will pray and hope alone until I get a positive result," I said, confidently.

"Just so you know, I would be too busy to sit down with you when you are crying and drowning in alcohol. I won't take responsibility if you sink into depression again. I will make sure I have no hand in whatever you are doing," he retorted.

"Like a coward that you are," I mumbled underneath my breath, but he heard me.

"To you, I might be a coward, but I know for myself that I am courageous enough to accept the fact that we will always remain childless."

He paused, staring into my eyes. "Only an adoption can change our story."

"I will not be childless. I will become pregnant and carry my own baby. You will be here to see how I will make all this possible," I challenged him.

Breaking from his gaze, I gathered the papers from the table with the intention of storming into my room.

Suddenly, Andrew grabbed my arm, his fingers wrapped around it tightly. His eyes boring into mine in a dangerous way. "Remember that you are a Walter. Don't do anything that would bring shame to my family's name," he whispered the warning.

"What's your definition of shame?" I whispered back, matching his intense energy.

"Mirabel, don't provoke me tonight. Just be careful with whatever you are doing."

He released his grip on my arm. "I was not joking when I said I wouldn't get involved in whatever you are doing, but I won't just sit back and watch you do something shameful," he said. This time, his tone was calm and less hostile.

"Don't worry, your sperm is the only sperm I have ever considered. I won't go through the stress just to carry another man's child," I said, assuring him.

"Good!" he said.

"If you will excuse me, my bed is waiting for me," I said before leaving his presence.

As I entered my room, I went straight to the mirror. My reflection was the only thing I trust the most. "I hope this will work," I said, staring at the reflection of the papers I was holding.

My hands hover around my stomach, caressing it in a gentle way. I did different pregnancy poses as I pretended to have a baby bump. "I can't wait to carry my own baby," I told myself, still staring at my reflection.