As she reached the summit of the steep incline she had climbed at breakneck speed, Monica paused to enjoy the burning sensation in the pit of her lungs, watching with satisfaction as the heat of her ragged breath formed feathery clouds in the cool fall air.
Her eyes drifted briefly closed as she deeply inhaled the earthy petrichor of the forest; she was almost able to feel the oxygen invigorating her bloodstream as her heart thumped wildly; working hard to feed the muscles that raged with exertion after propelling her so quickly to these dizzying heights.
The smallest hint of a rare smile glanced across her lips as she took in the majestic view of the surrounding countryside before looking back over her shoulder, acknowledging the impressively precipitous route she had taken to get here.
There were easier routes she could have taken, and her pace had been unnecessarily vigorous, but this had been exactly what she needed.
It had been a long time since she had felt so powerful and so vital.
Grudgingly, she supposed she had her husband to thank; for it was he who had encouraged this weekend of country air, affording Monica a fleeting glimmer of respite from the dark shroud of depression that engulfed her so readily these days.
She had initially met his suggestion of a mini-vacation together with the sullen-eyed pessimism that had recently become her trademark; but she had to admit that escaping the confines of the ever more oppressive walls of their apartment for a few days had proven to be one of his better ideas.
"Tilly!" she called somewhat breathlessly as her eyes scanned the forest floor. "Come on!"
Monica could hear the rustle of the little dog's approach long before she caught sight of her lolloping ears and frantically whipping tail, as she came bounding enthusiastically through the crackling undergrowth towards the sound of her owner's voice.
The tiny chocolate brown spaniel had also been her husband's idea: Another futile attempt to pull Monica out of the pit of misery she was almost constantly immersed in.
Monica had never really considered him "a dog person", so when he had arrived home with the silken-coated little puppy, bundled up in a cream-colored blanket, her surprise had been thorough and genuine.
Predictably, she had fallen immediately in love with Tilly's soft brown eyes, constant affection and sunny demeanor and she was endlessly appreciative of the companionship and focus the little dog had provided her with, at a time in her life when she felt that she severely lacked both; however, the motivation behind her husband's spur of the moment purchase was so obvious that it wrenched at Monica's heart.
The couple had been unsuccessfully trying for a baby for almost a year and a half now, and Monica knew only too well that her husband saw Tilly as both a diversion, and a sweet little entity upon which Monica might be able to lavish the devastating surplus of maternal love she was so very desperate to impart.
Whilst duly enchanted by her new pet, the idea that Tilly's arrival might provide even an iota of distraction from Monica's all-encompassing desire for motherhood; the notion that the little dog could soothe even a single throb of her continually painful emptiness; was laughable to the point of insulting; providing Monica with conclusive proof that her husband completely failed to understand her visceral need for a child.
She had enough self-awareness to know that her desperate yearning for a baby must be making her tremendously difficult to live with, but she had always been completely transparent about the fact that she saw motherhood as a non-negotiable part of her future; and had never made any secret of her desire to start a family just as soon as she married.
She had only been true to her word: From the moment she had said "I do" Monica began to studiously track her menstrual cycle, carefully researching and preparing fertility enhancing foods, ensuring that her body was at its physical peak; determined to make herself the perfect vessel to nurture and protect her much-wanted son or daughter.
In the beginning, she had made significant efforts to protect her relationship with her husband from her avid approach to conception; ensuring that he benefited from ever more creative attempts at seduction; confident that she could prevent even the most rigorously organized sex life from becoming solely functional and entirely bereft of spontaneity and excitement.
But month after crushingly disappointing month, tears had sprung to Monica's eyes when she felt that heartbreakingly familiar drag in her abdomen; the depressing dull ache that arrived as regular as clockwork, signalling another mentally exhausting cycle of fruitless sex; and eventually, as her single-mindedness had increased, her commitment to maintaining an unpressured and fulfilling sexual connection with her husband had started to dwindle.
There could be no denying that over the last year their marriage had been severely impacted by what her husband would most likely deem obsession; but what Monica viewed as crucially differing levels of dedication to what she pertinently believed should be a joint enterprise.
As supportive as her husband tried to be on the surface; as sympathetic as he often seemed to her misery; Monica knew that fundamentally, their continuing infertility just did not matter to him in the same way that it mattered to her.
She increasingly felt that she was battling alone. And it was that feeling of loneliness that hurt the most.
From that hurt had grown a malignant tumor of resentment that was gradually consuming her heart and driving a bitter wedge between her and the man she had once adored.
She knew that it was completely unfair to blame him for their struggle; particularly given her behavior of late; but Monica's increasingly chaotic mind was coming up with ever more irrational reasons to explain their failure to create new life.
She was even starting to believe that on some level, the historically hesitant attitude her husband had exhibited towards having a baby had somehow jinxed their efforts.
She was aware that she was being ridiculous, but she just could not find it in herself to disassociate longing from effort; and consequently was unable to believe that he was trying as hard as she was.
However, whilst her husband might not be struggling with the idea of a childless marriage in the same way that she was, his commitment to repairing the growing damage to their relationship could not be questioned, and this made Monica feel terrible, because she certainly could not say the same.
The fact that he had arranged this weekend break away from the city was a case in point, and she felt tremendously guilty that it was not providing the restorative, quality time together that he had hoped it would.
So far they had hardly spoken a word to each other, and Monica had spent the majority of the weekend escaping to walk the dog: Even now, she was in no real hurry to return to the hotel, finding peace and freedom in the solitude of this isolated woodland wilderness, instead of in his arms.
Shameful as it was to admit it, the fact that she was yet to ovulate this month meant that there was no real impetus to spend time with her husband at all.
But return she must, and Monica knelt to tighten the damp laces of her sneakers as she contemplated the route she would take back down through the trees.
The path that lay ahead contoured the steep hill in a gentle zigzag; it was cushioned with moss and decaying leaf matter; and was generally much less hazardous than the thorny uphill scramble she had just endured.
This undemanding trail should have looked far more appealing, but right now, the treacherously rugged climb to get here had been just the grueling kind of physical punishment Monica craved, and knew that she deserved.
She sighed dejectedly as she began to amble her descent, trying hard to keep her mind in the moment, and far away from babies and marriage and mistakes, by focusing on Tilly's antics; watching with a wistful smile as the frantic little creature raced with wild abandon through the bracken; wishing desperately that even the tiniest amount of her dog's joie de vivre might rub off on her.
But suddenly she heard a yelp as Tilly disappeared into a particularly dense knot of brambly undergrowth and Monica's brow furrowed in concern when the dog failed to emerge.
"Come here Tilly!" she called encouragingly, seeing the tangle of jade green foliage move as the dog thrashed within.
Monica waited for a moment, in the hope that Tilly might eventually wriggle herself free, but after a minute there was still no sign of the dog, and she returned another high-pitched bark of distress indicating that she had most-likely become completely trapped.
"Oh for God's sake, Tilly" Monica muttered despairingly, realizing quickly that she was going to have to navigate the perilously steep and uneven terrain to try to retrieve the dog.
She crouched down to all fours before lowering herself cautiously over the almost sheer edge of the path, finding her footing and clambering carefully down towards the thicket that concealed Tilly from view.
As she pushed her way through the thickly barbed vegetation, she cursed under her breath when a sharp thorn tore a shallow but bloody gash across her forearm.
She clung to branches and leaned into the acute incline as she struggled to reach Tilly, finally finding her hopelessly tangled in a mass of prickly shrubs.
She felt more scratches appear across her arms as she reached into the thicket and struggled to work Tilly free.
When she finally managed to wrench the dog from her thorny prison, Monica paused to rake her fingers through Tilly's fur to inspect her for injuries; the dampness of the forest floor seeping through her leggings as she sat down in the sodden leaves.
"You stupid dog!" she admonished, giving the spaniel's soft head a fond ruffle before pushing herself to a standing position and readying herself to gingerly pick her way back to the path.
But as she took a considered step forward, Monica's foot disappeared into a well-concealed hole, causing a devastating stumble.
She almost managed to right her balance, but her ankle gave way beneath her and she felt herself falling; her body colliding with the ground over and over again, the near perpendicular incline of the terrain causing her to gain painful momentum as she tumbled.
The last thing Monica felt before her head struck the rock that ultimately broke her fall was foolish: Not for mis-stepping; but for the way her stupid, desperate, obsessive arms had moved protectively towards her perpetually empty womb as she fell.
"Oh, you're Monica's husband?" asked a kindly, round-cheeked nurse, intercepting the man at the hospital reception desk when she heard him inquiring after his wife in panicked tones. "Boy, is she going to be glad to see you! Follow me Honey, I'll take you right to her."
"How is she? Is she awake?" he asked breathlessly, his face etched with worry, and flushed from the pace at which he had raced over from the parking lot.
"She's drifting in and out of sleep" the nurse explained "She took quite a knock to the head, as you'll see. But she's been asking for you every time she's woken up, so she'll be delighted that you're here."
He followed close behind the portly woman as she waddled briskly through the maze of identical, halogen-lit corridors, her ample hips swaying; her mass of effervescent black curls bouncing wildly and her sturdy shoes squeaking against the linoleum with every step.
"Now, I should warn you, some of her injuries will appear a little alarming, but they mostly look worse than they are. She has a very minor fracture to her nose, which has caused a lot of swelling and bruising around her eyes, and her head's all strapped up with a dressing because of a fairly deep laceration just on her hairline.
To be honest, she looks like she's gone a few rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson, poor lamb, but it's all stuff that should heal pretty quickly and she won't have any noticeable scarring.
She has a pretty significant sprain to her right ankle, which is most likely going to make things difficult for her for a while mobility-wise, a minor sprain to her left wrist too; and plenty of cuts and bruises to boot."
The woman's pace started to slow, as they turned yet another corner, indicating that they must be drawing close to Monica's room.
"The main thing we need to monitor is her concussion. And she was also exhibiting symptoms of mild hypothermia when she arrived: We think she may have been lying out on the trail for quite a while before the other hikers found her.
But the fact that she's been asking for you and your daughter is a good sign."
His eyes clouded with confusion as he told her "Monica and I don't have a daughter.. "
"Oh, then who's Tilly?"
He laughed without mirth as he explained with a nod "OK. She's our dog."
The nurse gave a brassy chuckle "Well then that makes sense! There's no bond like the one between a woman and her dog! I think I would probably ask after my dogs before my husband or my kids!"
Her chocolate brown eyes crinkled as she threw him another gentle smile "But it'll be a relief for Monica to have you here, that's for sure. Every time her eyes have opened, the first word out of her mouth has been "Chandler", she's absolutely desperate to see you."
He came to a stop outside of the door and ran thoughtful fingers down his jaw bone.
The nurse gestured towards the door "She's just through here Chandler, she may well be sleeping but you're welcome to sit with her. And remember, it looks worse than it is."
She eyed the man with a little confusion as her intended words of comfort seemed to make him hesitate.
"I'm not Chandler," he told her gravely, "Chandler's a family friend. I'm Richard. Her husband"
The nurse's lips set into a straight line of awkward silence as she considered the implication of his words, wordlessly registering an intriguing lack of shock on Richard's face, before she eventually pushed open the heavy door to Monica's room.
She looked back into the man's solemn grey eyes as she gestured for him to enter, muttering apologetically "I'm sorry, I just assumed... Come on in and take a seat Richard. Hopefully she'll wake up again soon."