Control (9 page)

I stood in the lobby of my doctor’s office building, bracing my hands on the glass doors as I gazed out at the world before me. The leafy trees rustling in the wind looked the same. The towering pines beyond the parking lot looked the same.

And yet nothing about my world was the same. It never would be again.

Everything had been a lie. Everything Robert had told me. Our marriage. Our life together.

All of it.

God, I should have known. Should have realized the truth.

But how could I have? How could I ever have believed that the words my husband had told me were a bald-faced lie? That he had undermined me and my hope, likely right from the beginning?

Someone was approaching the front door. Breathing raggedly, I stepped aside, allowing the middle-aged man to enter the building. Then, numb, I slipped through the door before it could close, stepping into the warm spring air of what appeared to be a beautiful day.

But it wasn’t a beautiful day. Not anymore. It was a downright dreadful one.

Like a zombie, I crossed the parking lot to my Mercedes SUV. Instinctively, I placed a hand on my belly.

The day had held so much promise just two hours ago. With Sharon, I saw the fruition of a dream she’d almost given up on. And I’d believed—foolishly—that I could have that dream, too.

Hope crept into my brain again. Hope that I’d held on to for the last two years in my marriage.

Could Dr. Cairns have been mistaken?

But the reality of her words sank my hope as surely as if it were tied to an anchor.

Mistaken—yeah, right. No doctor would make a mistake about that. The mistake had been in blurting the truth—a truth she clearly thought my husband had shared with me.

“Robert and I are ready. Ready to have a baby.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

“I’d like to know what you think I need to do to help bring about a successful conception. Do you think there might be an issue with my husband’s age?”

Warm chuckle. “No need to worry. You won’t have to do anything special. Vasectomies are reversible, and there’s no age limit on when men can impregnate.”

I’d stared, dumbfounded, as the doctor’s words had registered.

Vasectomies are reversible.

I hadn’t played the “what are you talking about?” card. I think because even amid my shock, I hadn’t wanted to embarrass myself. How could I let our doctor know that my husband hadn’t shared a crucial detail with me—the one that had prevented the thing I wanted most?

I rested my hip against my vehicle as my head swam. Two years ago, I had told Robert that I was finally ready to have a baby. He’d agreed that I should go off the Pill.

God, what a joke. All those years on the Pill…

Robert must have been secretly laughing at me. Laughing at my stupidity.

“How could you do it?” I said aloud, but the rustling trees gave no answers. “How could you never tell me that you had a vasectomy?”

I got into the car, and the tears finally came. I let out a wail as they flowed down my face. I pounded the steering wheel. I screamed.

When I couldn’t cry anymore, I spent the next couple of minutes trying to regain my control.

“What control?” I laughed bitterly. “Robert has controlled every single aspect of your life, of
our
life. Of our marriage.”

Obviously, he didn’t want a baby. And he obviously believed that if he couldn’t give me one, I would leave him. So he’d kept me in my place by lying to me, by supplying me false hope.

Yes, I was always the one who brought up the topic of having a baby. But if he didn’t want a child, he should have told me the truth. Given me the option to go on with my life without him, if that’s what I chose to do.

A vasectomy… It didn’t seem real. Didn’t seem possible. Robert had seen my disappointment every time I’d gotten my period. He’d watched me try to predict when I might be ovulating. He’d heard the hope in my voice when my cycle was finished and I knew I had another chance to conceive.

After two years of trying, I’d been beginning to wonder if it was due to my husband’s age, or some biological issue with me.

I’d like to know what you think I need to do to help bring about a successful conception. Do you think there might be an issue with my husband’s age?

In the privacy of my car, I laughed again—but it was an angry, bitter sound.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to learn that my husband had had a vasectomy without telling me.

I took my phone out of my purse and dialed Robert’s cell.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said. “How was Sharon’s appointment?”

“Are you home?” I asked.

“I’m at the club. Just sat down for lunch with George and Colin.”

“I need to see you,” I told him, my voice firm.

“I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“No. I need to see you now.”

“What is it, Elsie?”

So much concern in his voice. It was bullshit. All of it. “I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.”

“If it’s that important, I’ll be there,” Robert said, clearly realizing that I meant business.

Damn right it was important.

The most important issue we would deal with in our marriage.

I was the first to get home. I went up to the bedroom, where we would have privacy from Olga’s ears.

My hands were jittery as adrenaline pumped through my body. I was too wired to sit. Instead, I paced the bedroom floor.

I felt betrayed. And hurt.

But mostly I felt angry.

Robert opened the bedroom door five minutes later. A smile formed on his lips as he saw me.

But not a happy-to-see-his-wife smile. More of a patronizing what-could-be-so-important smile.

His smile withered as he saw the look on my face. “What’s the matter, Elsie? What happened?”

What happened is that I hate you,
I thought.
I found out your lie, and I hate you.

“I learned something today, Robert. Something so disturbing I can’t even believe it.”

“What?” he asked, his concerned expression adding to my anger.

“I’ve been so stupid,” I said, not sure if I was talking to Robert or to myself. “I thought a baby would…would
fix things between us. Give us both renewed purpose, I guess.”

He eyed me carefully, saying nothing.

“And then I find out that what I want the most is something you don’t want at all.” I paused, holding his gaze. I waited for a reaction from him as my words sank in.

But Robert showed no reaction at all.

“I saw Dr. Cairns today,” I went on. “I asked her what she thought I could do to help us get pregnant. Imagine my surprise when she said that all we needed was for you to reverse your vasectomy.”

Robert’s jaw twitched.

“Obviously, you didn’t want a baby. But why—” My voice cracked, but I forged on. “But why would you make me believe that you did? Why would you…”

Unable to look at my husband, I turned away. Turned away and tried to compose myself.

After a beat, Robert said, “I can see why you’re disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”
I said as I whirled around. “Disappointed doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling! Why would you do this? How could you lie to me about something so important?”

Robert said nothing.

“Answer me, damn it!”

“You didn’t have the time for a baby.”

It wasn’t the answer I expected, and it stunned me. For a few seconds I couldn’t speak. “Didn’t…have
time?
” I finally asked. “I’ve been wanting a baby for two years, talking to you about that desire
nonstop, and your excuse for lying to me is that I didn’t have
the time?
”

“A new business takes a lot of work,” Robert went on, seemingly unfazed by my brewing anger. “Don’t you think I’ve seen how many hours a week you’ve had to dedicate to the shop? It wasn’t the right time.”

His answer pissed me off. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious. That business occupies most of your time. Where would you fit in raising a child?”

I couldn’t believe my husband—justifying his lie with an excuse that made no sense.

“And so you just decided—without informing me—that you would have a vasectomy? Is that what you’re saying?”

Robert looked away.

“Answer me!”

“That’s not how it happened.”

“No? You didn’t decide that you would have a vasectomy without telling me? While I was
trying to get pregnant?
”

“No, I didn’t.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. And then it occurred to me. What if he’d had the vasectomy
before
we’d gotten married? Before we’d even met? Though I was angry, I could suddenly envision a scenario where Robert might have felt uncomfortable telling me the truth.

“Did you have the vasectomy before we got married?” I found myself asking. Was I, even now, finding a way to excuse a horrific lie?

It was something I’d done many times in my life
with my parents. Made excuses to justify their bad behavior.

I couldn’t do it now.
Wouldn’t
do it now. Not anymore. I wasn’t the same meek, insecure person I’d once been.

Robert didn’t answer right away, and again refused to make direct eye contact with me.

“Robert?” I prompted. I wasn’t going to back down.

Now he met my gaze, his expression one of resolve. “Once you were involved with your store, and very busy with that, I assumed…I assumed you were no longer interested in a baby.”

A shocked gasp escaped my lips.

“I’m not getting any younger, Elsie.”

I felt a sharp pain at his words. An honest to goodness pain in my heart. Despite his promises, despite knowing that I’d reiterated on countless occasions that I definitely wanted children, Robert had decided to have a vasectomy
after
we were married—leaving me out of the decision completely. “I
always
told you that I would want children one day,” I said, seething. “I wasn’t ready in the beginning of our marriage, and you agreed, but I maintained right from the beginning that I
would
want children.”

“Honestly, Elsie, once you threw every ounce of your being into your business, I thought you’d changed your mind. You were getting older. And after five years of marriage, you still weren’t ready for children. People change their minds all the time. I thought you had.”

Many emotions began to swirl around within me—anger, disillusionment, hurt.

Revulsion.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. Robert’s eyes widened, shock and disapproval streaking across his face, but I didn’t care. “Let’s pretend for a second that what you’re saying is true. You had a vasectomy because you
somehow
thought I’d changed my mind about wanting children. Why wouldn’t you have told me? Hell, consulted me first? You’re lying!”

“Calm down, Elsie.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

“Elsie, what do you expect? I’m not a young man anymore.”

Did I know him at all? Had he always been a son of a bitch? “If that was your issue, you would have said so before. You would have told me that you had concerns about being too old.”

“What’s the sense in getting you pregnant? I won’t live forever. You want to be like Sharon, raising a child without a father?”

You bastard!
Somehow I refrained from saying the words.

“And I already have three children, Elsie. Four grandchildren.”

“I just want to know if you lied to me from the beginning,” I replied, barely keeping my anger under control. “If you never planned to give me a baby.”

“I’m too old,” Robert said, not answering my question—which was answer enough. “And at thirty-seven, you’re likely too old, too.”

I glared at him. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead.

“I know you think this is what you want, my love.” Robert’s tone was gentle, as though he was speaking to a child who needed extra care in understanding something. “But when you have time to reflect, you’ll see that it doesn’t make sense.”

Doesn’t make sense…
I heard my husband’s words, stared at him in disgust. A part of me wanted to lash out at him now—scream, throw something. But another part—the part that had learned how to behave as Robert’s wife—silently held in my resentment.

I watched as he turned and left the room, effectively putting an end to our conversation. No more discussion. It was over because he deemed it was over.

Angry as I was, as I sat on the bed, with a numb sensation spreading through my body, something clicked in a way it hadn’t before.

I wasn’t surprised. Of course I wasn’t surprised. Because every decision in our marriage had been made by my husband. If I wanted to do something that he didn’t agree with, he would simply change the subject, or do things the way he wanted. And I’d always accepted that.

When he was shopping for a new car for me nearly three years ago, we both knew it would be a Mercedes. Except for Robert’s fancy sports cars, he didn’t drive anything else. But I’d wanted the classic E-Class sedan, an updated version of the one we were turning in. Robert had insisted that I get the GL-Class this time—a sport utility vehicle. Even though I’d spoken
to the salesman about the E-Class—smaller, and in my opinion, easier to manage—Robert had ignored me, telling the man that we would be leasing the GL-Class.

“Remember that fender bender you had,” Robert pointed out. “You worried that you might have permanent back pain. Thank God that’s not the case, but you’ll be better off in an SUV.”

When the salesman asked what color I wanted, my husband finally turned to me. That was when I was allowed my choice. In a detached voice, I told him that I wanted the Storm Red.

I’d gone home angry, but had reasoned my way out of the emotion. Why the hell was I angry when my husband was leasing me a brand-new luxury car? The model he’d chosen was more expensive than the one I’d wanted. Honestly, did I have a right to be angry?

That’s what I’d told myself, but now I understood why it had bothered me so much at the time. It was the way Robert had made the decision for me, as though my opinion didn’t matter.