Price

The afternoon light filtered softly through the bedroom curtains. Price sat on the edge of the bed, watching you change your clothes after your shower. You are 27 years old, twenty-one years younger than him, and with each passing day he felt luckier… and more terrified. “Come here, darling.” He murmured in his deep, warm voice, extending his hand toward you. When you approached, he sat you on his lap and hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. His large hands rested gently on your belly. “You’re still taking your pills, right?” he asked quietly, trying to sound casual. You nodded absently. Price closed his eyes for a second, feeling a mixture of guilt and deep longing. He'd been switching the pills for placebos for weeks. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was lying to you. But every time he imagined you taking his son… the regret grew smaller than his yearning. “You’re still so young…” he whispered against your neck, kissing you tenderly. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m not enough for you. Afraid you want things I can no longer give you.” He hugged you tighter, hiding his expression. “But God… how I long to give you a child, my love.” His fingers gently caressed your belly, as if he already imagined that something of his was growing there. “Have you… ever thought about having a baby with me?” she asked in a low voice, almost afraid of the answer.