Margaret had been uncharacteristically cold ever since they returned from the doctor's office two days ago. Victor knew she needed time to process the news but two days was more than enough. He expected her to cry and scream; instead, she threw herself into her work. Victor knew that technique because he did the same thing when he wanted to avoid something unpleasant. But she had barely slept or ate and he was starting to worry.
As he drove home, he wondered what she was doing now. Had she moved to get lunch or was she still in her office? She had chosen to work from home since the news—the first clue something was wrong. It replayed in his head like a damned catchy radio tune.
The doctor had called them in for the results of Margaret's test. He knew she was worried by the way she plucked imaginary lint from her slacks, but she wasn't the kind of woman to allow hand holding, so he kept his hands to himself. He was honestly terrified. He'd already been tested and came back clean. If anything, he hoped it was just a glitch in the human body. Maybe it wasn't their time.
But the doctor was solemn as they sat in her office. Victor already knew.
"Mrs. Hoffman, there's no easy way to say this."
"Tell me exactly what needs to be said," Margaret replied. She already knew, too.
"The tests were positive. I'm sorry, but unfortunately you will never bear children."
Margaret simply nodded and thanked the doctor for her time before leaving. There was nothing Victor could say.
Their marriage had been smooth sailing until that point. They had tried off and on for children; they had even seen a specialist who, after a few visits, encouraged them to test for infertility. It tore at his heart to think they couldn't have children.
It was a topic he wasn't shy about. He told Margaret right away that he'd always wanted a son. A boy he could raise to shoot, to be a good soldier and a great husband. That wasn't possible now. Shit, even his fellow officers knew he wanted a kid. If they saw him now, they'd laugh at him. "It's every man's dream, Vic," they'd say. He shook the thought away. What man didn't want to expand his family, to nurture a new life?
As he parked in the driveway, he took off his hat and rubbed his scalp. He needed a shave. Maybe he could go to the barber on Gunner Drive; they did free cuts for servicemen. Focus, Victor. What's your plan of attack?
He sighed. With Margaret, there was no plan. She deduced everything in the blink of an eye. Why did he ever marry a woman who could read him so well?
There was no putting it off any longer. He wanted the situation over and done with.
The house he inherited from his grandparents was dark and cold when he entered. He kicked off his boots, set them to the side of the door as Margaret liked, and traversed the white marble floors to her study.
The room was large enough to fit her giant texts along the walls, a table and two matching club chairs, and her large red oak desk. Like everything about her, the room screamed "business". He avoided it when he could.
Margaret sat behind her desk, papers carefully spread out before her, a pen in her hand as she cross referenced. She didn't even look up when he entered.
He never liked to sit in front of her desk; it felt too much like sitting in front of his superiors. Thankfully Margaret was not a woman of comfort but functionality. Her chair was a simple straight back that made her the right height to come behind her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders—noting the way she stiffened immediately—and kissed the top of her head.
"What are you working on?" he asked. Not that she would tell him, of course, but he had to get her attention somehow.
She shrugged him off. "Not tonight, Victor. I have a big case coming up."
"What's it about?"
"Just as an army officer is sworn to secrecy, so is an attorney." She set down her pen to fold her hands in front of her. She still wouldn't look at him. "If that's all then I ask that you leave."
Ice Queen Margaret was back on her throne. Victor hated it when she got this way; it was exactly why the conversation had to happen. He didn't want to live in silence for the rest of his life.
"Is there anything you want to talk about?" he asked.
"My mind is fully dedicated to my work."
"So there's not even the smallest voice at the back of your head trying to talk about something else?"
She gathered her papers, stacking them neatly before setting them down. "I don't know what you're insinuating."
Bullshit. She was just good at avoiding topics. Normally he didn't argue with her but this had to be aired. Now.
He pulled the chair out to step in front of her, his hands on the armrests, trapping her. She wasn't intimidated. She crossed her arms and fixed him with her best glare.
"What is this about?" she demanded. "I have work to do."
"I've tried to be respectful and wait until you're ready to talk, but then I remembered who I was dealing with. You'd never come to me with a problem so I'm meeting you halfway."
"What are you talking about?"
"I was there when the doctor told you. You don't feel anything about that?"
At first there was no reaction. She was an attorney; she perfected the poker face. But then cold fury flashed into her eyes. Her hands were no longer resting on her arms but gripping them.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked quietly. "What would make you happy, Victor?"
"Anything," he pleaded. "I want to know how you're feeling. I'm your husband—let me in for once, dammit."
"You really want to know You want to know how I feel being an incompetent woman and wife?"
When he started dating Margaret, Victor learned that a woman's mind was a fickle and terrifying place. He prided himself on being able to decode Margaret because he knew her so well—and then she threw him a curveball.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I've heard your family, the neighbors. We've been married for five years. Like any good married couple, we should have children. It's expected. But I can't give you the son you've always wanted. So tell me, Victor, how am I supposed to feel staring into the one failure I can't fix?"
Marrying a perfectionist was never simple but she had never let it engulf her—until she found the problem she couldn't overcome. How did someone change their biology? Would hormones help? He wasn't a scientist but he knew some. He could get her help.
But then the problem would exist outside the house. Margaret wouldn't like that.
"Is that what this is about?" Victor asked, numb. He never thought she felt incompetent. Dear God, she was the most proficient woman he knew. "We can get help. A surrogate, even."
She finally showed her anger, her lips curling with disgust. "Another woman carrying your child? Would you prefer that?"
"No, sweetie, of course not. It was just a suggestion. Let me help you."
"It will help me to forget we ever had this conversation." Her tone left no room to argue.
Victor almost released her. He almost gave in like countless times before, but something sparked in the back of his mind. He took her hands and knelt on the floor in front of her.
"What about adoption? There are so many orphans out there from the war," he said. "We could change a life."
She shook her head. "Blood relations, Victor."
"I don't give a damn about blood. As long as your my wife and you're happy, I don't care if our child has my nose and your eyes or if they have an Ostrian accent. I want to have a family with you either way. We can get the process started right away." He brought her hands to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles as if she were a saint. "What do you say?"
Margaret's facade crumbled until she was blinking back tears. This was the woman he married; private and calculating, but not unfeeling.
"It is a very long process," she replied, her voice trembling. "I … suppose it wouldn't hurt to try."
Victor grinned and wrapped her in a tight embrace that she returned. Over the years, he'd wondered why he married a difficult woman. Now it was apparent that he wanted the challenge, that when she finally let down her defenses, he wanted to be there to comfort her. Five years of marriage and he still loved her. He couldn't imagine a day that would ever change.
Kissing her temple, he whispered in her hair, "We'll get through this. I love you, Margaret."