My body is suddenly cold, unable to feel anything passing through its system. The medium size office of my gynecologist feels like a tiny box all of a sudden, sucking air out of my lungs, after hearing the results of my fertility test.

"Kira?" Dr. Adams calls softly, but I don't respond. My eyes are still nonplussed, hypnotized by the white walls mingled with daylight oozing through the window. "Kira?"

"So . . ." I slowly lift my eyes at her, my mouth agape as I'm too stupefied to hold my lips sealed. "You mean to say that . . . that I can't get pregnant? Is that it?" I croak, tears welling stubbornly in my eyes, blocking my vision.

She told me I have a condition that represses my ovulation cycle. She said that I'm not okay and I don't know what else could that entail. Am I infertile? Fear creeps me inside.

"Listen." Dr. Adams exhales deeply and takes off her glasses. Gently she puts them on top of her desk. I swallow tightly, nervously, my eyes on her every move. "You have a hormonal imbalance, Kira. The levels of your FSH-the hormones responsible for stimulating the ovaries to produce mature eggs-are apparently very low. That's why you can't, or couldn't get pregnant, even when you had unprotected intercourse several times."

I don't understand a thing. My world has suddenly quit revolving, my mind blank. Only fear and a strange sensation blanket my being, making my skin shudder despite the woolen trench coat I'm wearing.

"No, that can't be." I stand up sharply, my lips twitching into several tremors, but no more words escape them.

"Kira, sit down please." Dr. Adams instructs. "I understand it wasn't what you were expecting, but it's a great thing that you've learned of it sooner, don't you think?"

"No, you don't understand! You can never understand unless you hear from someone that you're incapable of having children." I laugh hysterically.

"I know. But panicking won't help us sort the situation, Kira. We need to have a serious talk and see how we can work on the situation."

"Oh yeah? How? Can you fix it?" I quiz her desperately and she takes a deep sigh, rubbing her nose bridge. "You're not sure, right?" I laugh again, nervously while rubbing my moist palms together. "Sorry, Doc. I know you're not to blame. Mh-mmh, no one's to blame here."

No one but me. It's my fucking problem. I never have anything go as planned! It always goes wrong somehow. It's my problem!

Staring at me worriedly, Dr. Adams pinches a button on her telephone. "Bring a glass of water, please," she orders and at the same time I slump down onto my chair, my knees wobbly.

"What do I do now?" I whisper, thinking out loud.

Is this really happening? I glance at Dr. Adams, who's still giving me a concerned stare, and I discern it's far from an illusion.

This is fucking real!

But why? Why can't any stage of my life go smoothly and have me enjoy it as other people do? My childhood was a mess. My teenage years, too. And now my marriage . . . I shut my eyes.

"Have some water," Dr. Adams instructs coolly, a minute or two later.

I realize there's a glass on the table, and the door shuts indicating someone's exit.

"Drink it. You need to calm down, Kira," she insists.

Reluctantly, I hold the glass with shaky hands and gulp a half of its content.

"Listen, Kira," Dr. Adams begins after the momentary silence full of tension and unspoken words on my part. "Just because you can't get pregnant at this moment doesn't particularly mean you're infertile."

"What do you mean?" I urge, eager to hear something hopeful and meaningful. "You just told me that I can't get pregnant and . . . " My voice trails off from frustration.

"Yes, naturally you can't conceive under this circumstance. But-" A phone call disrupts Dr. Adam's speech. She picks up with a small frown after muttering her apology. "I'm still in the middle of consultation, how about-" She pauses again, her face adapting another frown; a worried one this time. "The tumor patient? Are you sure? Did her water break?"

I dissolute my attention from the doctor. How am I going to live with this one? And how is my marriage going to survive this? God, what's going to happen from this point? I was ready to embark this journey of motherhood. I was excited, too, but why all of a sudden do I have to hear this?

Dr. Adams stares apologetically at me as the call ends. It looks like an emergency and it's probably for the best. All that I need is to get out of this place and be all by herself. To think, to ponder, to understand what's happening in depth.

"I need to get to the theater right now, Kira." She grabs her medical coat from the wooden hanger. "There's a delicate patient who-"

"It's okay. I should go, too." I get up on my feet, my mood worried and distraught. "I know you have something to attend to so I'll just . . . I'm going home." I probably sound like a confused person, not knowing which way leads to the exit.

"Are you going to drive yourself? If yes, I'll have to call a taxi for you, instead," Dr. Adams says suggestively, her tone laced with uttermost concern over my safety. I guess I indeed look confused. "Or I should call your husband, maybe?" she suggests carefully.

"No! Not my husband!" I answer briskly.

The thought of Liam and his sweet fantasies of being a dad crosses my mind, driving me insane.

Oh God! I get the chills at the idea of telling him that I have a fertility problem and I can't conceive.

"I came with someone. You don't need to worry, Doctor, I'm capable of taking care of myself," I inform Dr. Adams.

"Okay. I'll give you a call and we'll talk more about this. We can still find other options to resolve the situation, Kira. This is not the end of your dream to become a mother, I assure you." Dr. Adams smiles indulgently.

Is there some hope? I smile back despite feeling suddenly dethroned.

"Okay." is the only thing I manage to utter.

"Take care, Kira. It will be fine," Dr. Adams repeats, and deeply I hope she's right.

Mr. Prescott is leaning against the car with his newspaper. I approach him slowly, my head barely capable of registering my surroundings. I don't want to go home. I want to be in a place where I can be alone for a good while-to let the news in.

"Is everything okay, ma'am?" Mr. Prescott asks immediately upon beholding my state.

"Yeah." I smile tightly. "Um, you don't need to drive me this time. I'll be home later so you can just go ahead without me."

"Why, ma'am?" the old man inquires instantly, avuncular concerns enveloping the tone of his voice. "Are you going to stay here?" His face crinkles.

"Not really but . . . I just want to take a walk and . . . just to be on my own, I guess," I reply, and I think I'm out of the mood to be condescended by anyone right now.

"But Young master won't-"

"I'll take care of my husband, Mr. Prescott. I'll give him a call," I retort, a bit displeased that I can't seem to make my own choices unless Mr. Intense approves it.

Fuck, I'm not anyone's property and Liam Darcy ought to understand this by now.

The old man seems reluctant to accept this arrangement for some untold reasons. Hence he adds, "Perhaps I can wait for you until-"

"Mr. Prescott," I utter his name calmly with controlled menace. He gives me his full attention. "I'm not requesting to be left alone. It's an order. I need to be alone so please let's not argue on this. You can tell Liam I said that."

I'm not proud of this, but I don't have energy to put up with an overly controlling husband right now. I'm not a child to be chaperoned, and he will have to understand this as soon as he can.

"Okay, ma'am. Do call me if you need me, please," Mr. Prescott says kindly, still troubled by the whole predicament.

"Okay." I affirm with a slight nod.

The Mercedes slides away, and I start walking slowly with my eyes on the ground, finding no pleasure in beholding anything else. I haul myself a taxi on the way, for my legs have become so weak ever since I received this horrible news.

"Where to, ma'am?" A middle-aged man asks, his eyes on the rearview mirror where our faces meet.

"Just take me to a nearby park," I instruct and the journey commences in such a brooding atmosphere.

It's one-thirty as I arrive at St. James park. The taxi driver recommended it, saying it's a great place to put one's mind off things by indulging in nature and history-the two things I like. Apparently this place is one of the eight royal parks, and I bet there's a lot to see.

I'm just too distracted to enjoy what it has to offer.

My mind fails to wrench off this new threat to my felicity, and not even the cold that has everyone hugged tightly in coats and sweaters is able to shake me off the spike of unhealthy thoughts and self-admonishment.

Everything is suddenly meaningless. How am I going to tell Liam about this? It quickly makes me weak, unable to take a step further as I'm stuck in the middle of the green garden, surrounded with beautiful trees and flowers that smell of life itself.

The park is soothingly calm despite a few people moving here and there, or seated near the spectacular lake that draws my attention. I see the beauty in the floating ducks, but nothing gets clearer in my eyes, for my feelings are completely disoriented.

Dr. Adams words replays, detonating the bomb of heartache once again. Instinctively, my hand finds my belly and rubs it softly. Will I ever get to hear the kick in my womb? What about the cry of a newborn that always wipes away the tears of a woman after delivery?

No, God, I want to experience it all.

Nothing seems to be working fine as far as my mood and feelings are concerned. I've been on the park bench for over two hours, procrastinating over nothing in particular, just trying hard to collect my composure.

I have to be strong but my body feels paralyzed, and my heart in so much pain that's different from any other before. Thinking of my husband, I decide to call him as he's probably learned of my escape by now.

"Oh God," I murmur softly, staring at the two missed calls from Liam I gather after fetching my phone from the bag.

A weak breath escapes my lungs as I try to return the call, but that doesn't succeed as another call interrupts my attempt.

It's Samantha.

I slide the receiver unhurriedly. "Hey, Sam." I clear my throat to hide any trace of sadness in my voice.

"Kiki! Do you know how much I miss you? Gosh, can't you ask your husband to move to America?" Sam chirps sassily as usual. My lips stretch into a faint smile. "Are you there?"

"Why don't you ask yours to move to the UK?" I sit straight.

"Well . . . pretend I didn't say a thing, okay? Let's forget about moving. I can't believe I'm making an international call from my own cell phone. Hey, can't you check your WhatsApp? I tried to call you there-"

"I was offline." I interrupt her. "I miss you, too, Sam. I miss you so much more than you know." Tears pool in my eyes and I mop them off with the back of my hand.

Maybe she'd be my shoulder to cry on at this time if they were together.

"Aw, Kiki. Are you crying now?" Sam asks and I huff a tiny laugh in response. "Okay, don't cry, because I sent you a video of my ultrasound. The little thing is growing too fast that I feel like my tummy is popping!" She sounds excited.

My heart twists, but it doesn't stop my joy towards this good news.

"How far have you reached?" I inquire.

"Fifteen weeks," Sam answers complacently.

"Wow. And how is the baby?"

"Great. And I'm big."

I chuckle. "You have to send me a picture of the big you."

"I will. Hey, are you okay? You kinda sound . . . I don't know. Weird?" Sam finally catches on.

I sigh soundly, adjusting my eyesight with a tight blink.

"Kiraaa?" Sam calls incessantly. "Are you sick? Is something wrong?"

"I'm not okay," I breathe, pressing my lips together into a thin line. I inhale deeply and throw my heels aside.

Freed, my feet settle on the soft and cold grass.

"Why?" Sam urges worriedly.

I bite on my bottom lip, tears pushing their way back into my eyes. Should I just tell my friend about this? I debate inside, a part of me desperately needing to let it out.

"Sam, I'm just coming from the hospital and-"

"Hold on a second, Kiki, I think I'm gonna throw up. Fuck, what are they cooking! It smells like stinky feet!" Sam grunts irritably. I hear some movements, as though she's running, and then I can't quite gather what follows.

It takes a few moments until Sam is back on the line.

"You were saying? I'm sorry about that. I swear I'm becoming a nuisance to the cook and everyone around here," she says.

"It's okay, Are you feeling better?" I ask her.

"Yeah. It always feels better after throwing up. And you?"

"I . . . I'm good," I reply, my courage destroyed. "I have a sore throat, and it's very cold here. How is everything over there? Your new family?"

"Good. Trying to adjust with my mom-in-law! Oh, and my clothes are getting smaller, how cool is that!" Sam muses, lamenting in such a style.

"Well, such is life. At least you get to experience the joy that not all women are lucky to experience," I reply, and it's like my wounds are getting deeper.

We talk for a little longer before I check the ultrasound shot Sam has sent me.

"Wow," I whisper, running my thumb on the chocolate bean moving slightly in what's supposed to be a womb. "So beautiful." I smile bittersweetly, happy for Sam, and dismayed for myself.