We hadn't known until the test. Nathaniel's count came back dead—zero motility, zero chance. The doctor said he would never father a child in his life.
"I already told you, stop thinking about having kids."
I suggested IVF, a sperm bank. He refused every option.
I let it go. His ego couldn't take it, and I didn't push.
But now Vivian Bennett was pregnant.
Nathaniel, who supposedly couldn't have children.
I tried to feel my sister out indirectly, asking whether the baby Vivian was carrying was really his. She shot me a look.
"If it wasn't his, you think he'd be fussing over it like that? He'd lose his mind."
Right. If it wasn't his, he'd never have stomached it.
A bitter laugh escaped me, and a blurred memory suddenly came into focus.
Not long after the wedding, Nathaniel had gone away on a business trip for a month.
When he came back, I'd missed him so badly I couldn't keep my hands off him—kept pulling him toward the bedroom, night after night. He turned me down every time.
Back then I'd wondered if I'd done something wrong, if I'd upset him somehow.
Now I understood. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He couldn't.
He'd had a vasectomy. He was still recovering and couldn't sleep with me.