Hey everyone! I had trouble with my account so I had to re-post it! Enjoy!

I never imagined it would happen so soon—deep down I'd hoped it wouldn't happen at all. It couldn't be that easy, could it? He'd barely touched me. It was nothing at all like my sister described. It was so quick, so cold, so….technical.

No, it couldn't be. Jane said those pills would work. She swore it when she gave them to me and I took them just like told me to.

"One pill each day at the exact same time." She said.

It wasn't hard to hide it from Phillip. I kept them tucked away in the bottom of my jewelry box. Each morning, as I slipped on my wedding ring, I'd pull out my tiny white miracle drug. And before he'd even gotten out of bed, I had already lied to him.

It's not as awful as it sounds. Jane said all American women are taking them nowadays. It would have seemed odd to these people if I didn't have a tiny box of pills stashed away in my jewelry box.

Besides, I can't have a baby right now. It's too soon. Our handler said I'd have plenty of time to adjust to my new life before we'd have to start a family. And yet we were just ten weeks into the mission when the orders came through.

I know what they're saying back at home-American couples all have children; it won't seem real without them-But how am I supposed to stay focused on my job with a screaming child in my home? It can't be done.

Phillip talks about having kids so much it makes me sick. He'll point out the little toys at the store our kids will "have to have!" We'll pass a field and he'll joke that one day our son will have to teach him how to play this "American football" sport because he's never seen anything like it.

I wonder if he had a lot of brothers and sisters back at home. Or perhaps a couple of little nieces or nephews? How else would he know so much about kids? Or maybe it's the opposite, he didn't have anyone. That's why he's so ready to have a family of his own.

I sit up on the couch and my head spins. The small picture frames on the wall of our apartment seem to dance in circles and just looking at the television makes me wish I hadn't had any of the toast Phillip made me that morning.

It's the first time I've been vertical all day. I move the trash can from the side of the couch and reach for the small book on the coffee table. Phillip picked it up for me from the library as a special surprise yesterday. The main character comes from a small town in the Soviet Union. The author describes the landscapes, the people, the towns. I close my eyes and for a moment I get to be back in my mother's house.

"Hey! You're up." His voice calls.

Phillip walks through the door with a huge grin across his face. He drops his bag by the front door and comes to sit down beside me.

"How are you feeling?" he says. "Any better than before?"

I shake my head.

He takes a peek at the trash can, "Well you kept your toast down. That's better than yesterday."

I give a hint of a smile, "How did your meeting go?"

His eyes narrow and he looks down at his hands, "We're running out of time."

"Well they're not giving us anything to work off of."

"They don't have much. Just a few sources that say the American government has a team developing a sort of vaccination reversal drug."

"There have been rumors of that before, each time-"

"This time, it's for real. They put it in the water, in the food, in our—their—produce, the whole nation lacks immunity to something terrible –smallpox maybe. The Americans bring a little over and it would spread like a wildfire. A second coming of the plague. Within months thousands are dead, the drug is long gone, and the UN can't put a virus on trial."

"What do they want us to do?"

"You don't do anything. I told them you weren't feeling up to it."

I can feel my eyes widen, "You what? Why would you do that?"

"'Cause you're not."

"I'm fine. I've never stood down for a mission yet. I don't need them doubting me now."

"I think they understand that you're taking part in another, more important, mission."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He scoots closer to me and puts his hand on my stomach, "The future of the motherland."

I push his hand aside and back away to the edge of the sofa, "That's not for sure yet!"

His smile falls away and I can tell I have once again hurt his feelings. If he would just learn his boundaries-he can't sit so close to me, he can't just put his hand on my stomach. He's not my husband. I'm not his wife. We're nothing more than business partners. What can't he understand that?

"I swore I would be good to you. Why can't you do the same for me?" he says.

"This isn't enough for you?" I say, gesturing to where his hand just was, "This from the poor boy who gets to keep control over his body, who was able to go out working today while I couldn't even get up off of the couch let alone out of the apartment."

"That's not fair." He says.

"Who do you think is going to be up at night feeding him? Hmm? Who do you think is going to have to give up time at work, time alone, time with people my own age, so that we can look like the perfect family of three? I can bet it's not going to be you. You can barely take care of yourself."

He stands up, turns his back toward me and walks to the kitchen. His head is down and he's doing that pitiful dragging of his feet he does whenever he's hurt.

I reach toward him, "Phillip, wait."

He keeps walking with his eyes staring at the ground, "Phillip, come on. I'm sorry." I say.

He turns around and points his finger at my face, his eyes wide open "You will never talk to my children that way."