Hana blinks at the two faint lines staring back at her, her eyes shooting out. Not again. She cries internally. It was only a line back in the bathroom. She staggers backwards, losing her grip on the white kit. It lolls across the grey tiles of their sitting room landing on his feet. Dan spares it a cursory glance, flickering his gaze back to the television.
“You know what to know,” he says, picking the remote from the couch and placing it on their centre table.
Of course, she does, this wouldn’t be the first.
“We don’t need it,” she remembers her husband’s voice when she picked seed in the second year of their marriage. It had been too calm and deadly.
Their marriage was based on a simple condition—no babies.
“Yes, I will schedule an appointment with Dr Brian,” she answers, swallowing the bile in her throat.
“That’s why I love you.” A smile finds its way onto his face, forcing her to mirror it on hers. She crosses her legs and rests her head on his broad shoulder hoping that his love would appease her wandering thoughts.
Four in the morning and Hana couldn’t find the peace to sleep. Her thoughts didn’t allow her. Dan is air to her just as she is to him. They can’t live without each other. Yes, she loves him and hadn’t blinked when he’d asked her to abort their baby but this time, she is hesitant. She made the sacrifice last time and now it was his turn, she thought, picking herself carefully from the bed, making sure not to wake Dan.
“Are you going somewhere?” The voice came from behind her but she didn’t turn. Her hand tightens on the doorknob.
“I’m keeping it,” she exhales.
Alimatu Azungah is a fiction writer and special educator. She is a graduate of the University of Education, Ghana. She writes romance stories and a dash of family drama. When she’s not writing, she enjoys teaching sign language or watching Korean drama under the comfort of her duvet. She has work published on Spillwords. Twitter: @Alimatu_Az
Art: flash/light, a VISPO by Robert Frede Kenter (c) 2022. Twitter: @frede_kenter.