Barren

I was on my ninety-ninth specialist when the final verdict came down: I was barren. Lifelong. Hearing this, my husband, Joshua, didn’t hesitate. He stormed out, leaving me in the sterile quiet of the doctor’s office. I chased him to his high-rise office, the one with the panoramic city view, but stopped short of the door. From inside, I could hear the rhythmic sounds of… intimate conversation. “Mila,” Joshua’s voice was a low murmur, “have my baby. Be my wife.” My hand, raised to knock, fell limp at my side. Back at our house, I started taking down the wedding photos. Tucked behind one of the frames, I found it: Joshua’s old journal, untouched for years. My heart, a tight knot of rage and sorrow, found an outlet. I snatched a pen and scrawled eight furious words across the page: Joshua Sterling, we are over! And then, something impossible happened. New words appeared on the page, materializing out of nowhere. “Who are you? Why are you writing in my journal?” My anger momentarily eclipsed my fear. I wrote back: I’m Vivienne. And I’m writing this because you don’t love her. 1 The words flickered into existence on the page, one by one. “You’re Vivienne?” “Impossible. Who are you, really?” “How can you be in my journal?” Three rapid-fire questions. My bravado evaporated. I shrieked and threw the journal across the room as if it were on fire. It took me a full two minutes to compose myself before I crept over and picked it back up. Staring at the ghostly script, I shakily wrote my own question. “This is your journal? Who are you?” “I’m Joshua Sterling.” The five words appeared, neat and self-assured. My hand trembled. The Joshua on the other end of this journal… was he eighteen years old? Before I could process it, more words appeared, hurried and anxious. “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you?” I quickly scribbled my reply. “I’m Vivienne. I’m thirty-one.” “The man you will become is going to betray me. So, the boy you are now… stay away from me.” The journal went silent. Ten seconds later, new words appeared, carved into the paper as if by a knife. “IMPOSSIBLE!” Through the journal, I could almost see him—the eighteen-year-old Joshua, his face a mask of defiant anger, making a vow his future self would shatter. Back then, his love was so pure, so absolute. He could never have imagined the cruel, heartless man he would become. I was about to write back when the front door swung open. A gust of wind swept through the house, flipping the pages of the journal. I snapped it shut just as the thirty-one-year-old Joshua stormed in, immediately starting to tear the place apart. It used to be that whenever he came home, he’d wrap his arms around me from behind, nuzzling my hair like a cat. I’d squirm and push him away, laughing, and he’d just pull me closer, whispering sweet nothings that made me blush. Now, his eyes didn’t even linger on me for half a second. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, he finally turned to me, his face a mask of irritation. “Have you seen the family heirloom?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Mila’s having a boy. The heirloom always goes to the firstborn son.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. On our wedding day, in front of all our guests, he had placed that heirloom—a jade pendant—in my hands for safekeeping. His younger brother had been furious. “Joshua, that’s meant to be passed down through generations! Everyone knows Vivienne can’t have children. What right does she have to hold onto our family’s legacy?” It had been thirteen years since the accident that had damaged my body, leaving me unable to conceive. No one ever dared to mention it in front of Joshua. But on our wedding day, his own brother had thrown it in my face. The atmosphere had turned instantly suffocating. All eyes were on me. Joshua had squeezed my hand, then slapped his brother across the face. “Even if Viv can’t have children,” he’d declared to the stunned room, “she is the only one worthy of keeping it.” In that moment, I knew I had married the right man. For five years, I had cherished that pendant. And now, he was about to break that sacred vow himself. I opened the drawer in front of me and took out the jade, intricately carved with characters for “peace” and “safety.” Joshua snatched it from my hand, a broad, happy smile spreading across his face. “Finally. If Mila wears this, she and the baby will be safe and sound.” Only then did he bother to look at me, the coldness in his eyes undisguised. “The heirloom is meant to be passed down. Mila is carrying my child now. It belongs to her.” He turned to leave. “I have to go see Mila. I’ll come back and celebrate our anniversary with you when I’m done.” At the door, he paused, tossing a final, pitying glance over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Even after Mila has the baby, your position as Mrs. Sterling is secure.” A slap and then a sweet. It was his signature move these last few years. I watched him leave, a bitter smile on my face. He called me his wife, yet he was having a child with another woman. I opened the journal again. A new line of text had appeared. “Because I was waiting for your reply, I missed my chance. I couldn’t get the spot behind her.” I grabbed my high school yearbook. My jaw dropped. In the graduation photo, Joshua’s position had actually changed. My breath hitched. My fingers trembled. The Joshua on the other side of this journal… could he actually change the future? Before I could recover, another line appeared. “If you’re really Vivienne, then tell me, where am I standing in the graduation picture?” I quickly replied, “You’re standing behind Mila.” The journal went silent again. After a minute of waiting, I picked up the pen and pressed down hard, carving the words into the page. “Joshua Sterling, please, get out of my life.” “Why? If you’re really Viv, don’t you know that I love you?” He had pressed so hard on the last question mark that he’d torn the paper. “Love? Because of your ‘love,’ the day after that photo was taken, Mila sent a group of thugs after me. They stabbed me in the stomach, damaged my uterus, and left me barren!!” “And the thirty-year-old you? He got her pregnant.” With every word I wrote, the memories came flooding back, sharper and more painful than ever. I had tried so hard to forget, but for years, that nightmare had woken me in a cold sweat, night after night. Thirteen years ago, Mila had begged Joshua to stand behind her for the photo. He’d refused. He stood firmly behind me, whispering that one day, we’d be standing together for our wedding photos, too. His sweet, clumsy confession had made my ears burn. The next day, a furious Mila had cornered me in an alley with a dozen thugs. When Joshua found me, I was lying in a pool of my own blood. He’d started screaming, a raw, terrified sound. He’d scooped me up, his eyes wild, and ran like a madman to the hospital, begging the doctors to save me. But it was too late. My womb was irreparably damaged. I would never have children. Joshua had held me and wept, swearing a solemn oath to love and protect me for the rest of our lives, to never let me be hurt again. I never, ever imagined that he would one day cheat on me with the very person who had caused me that pain. That he would have a child with her. “Joshua, promise me. If you love me, you’ll leave me alone.” “As far away as possible. Please?” “I’m begging you.” No reply came. I curled up on the floor, clutching the journal, and drifted into a restless sleep. In my dream, I saw a seventeen-year-old Joshua, running frantically through a dark alley, his face etched with panic. I woke with a start, chilled to the bone. It was the middle of the night. The thirty-year-old Joshua still hadn’t come home. Not a call, not even a text. But Mila’s social media was a different story. A new post every ten minutes. Thirty of them in total. The first was a picture of Joshua placing the heirloom around her neck. The second, him gently blowing on a spoonful of soup before feeding it to her. The third, his head resting on her swollen belly, a look of pure bliss on his face as he listened for the baby’s kicks. … Each post was flooded with likes and congratulatory comments. “Congrats, Joshua! Fatherhood looks good on you!” “Told you he wouldn’t stay with that barren hen, Vivienne.” “Vivienne was never good enough for him. Mila and Joshua are the perfect couple, a match made in heaven.” Joshua had liked every single post. Maybe, deep down, he agreed with them. I closed the app, my head feeling heavy and my body weak. I drifted back to sleep on the sofa. In my dream, Joshua finally reached the end of the alley. He saw me, pinned to the ground by a group of thugs. He saw Mila, a knife in her hand, plunging it toward my stomach. “VIV!” The next second, Joshua’s eyes went bloodshot. He charged, a primal scream tearing from his throat. He went for the leader, smashing a loose brick against his head again and again. The other thugs swarmed him, stabbing him dozens of times. But Joshua didn’t stop. He held onto the blood-soaked brick, using his last ounce of strength to crack the leader’s skull open. Then he turned to the others, his face a grotesque mask of fury. “COME ON, IF YOU’RE NOT AFRAID TO DIE!” he roared. His sheer, terrifying ferocity sent them scattering. They fled, disappearing into the darkness of the alley. Only then did Joshua’s strength finally give out. He collapsed in front of me. Our eyes met. His were filled with a fierce pride. A small, triumphant smile played on his lips. “Viv,” he gasped, “I told you I’d protect you. I did it.” “Joshua! I don’t need your protection!” “Leave me alone!” I screamed his name and jolted awake, tears streaming down my face. I sat on the sofa, gasping for air, my body trembling from a fear and cold that felt bone-deep. I looked down at the journal in my lap, my mind a confused jumble. Was it a dream? Or a memory? I lifted my shirt. My body went rigid. I frantically ran my hand over my stomach. The scar, the one that had been my constant companion for thirteen years, was gone. A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. I opened the journal again. There was a new line of text, the handwriting shaky and weak. “Viv, I saved you.” Once my emotions subsided, I wrote back, my own hand steady and cold. “It’s what you should have done.” If it weren’t for his love. If it weren’t for the love he was destined to betray. Mila never would have come after me. I never would have lost the most important part of being a woman. And the thirty-year-old him never would have had a child with my tormentor, wounding me all over again. The letters appeared again, shaky and labored. “Viv, is there anything else I can do for you?” After the seventeen-year-old Joshua had written the final question mark, I replied. “I’ve already told you. Get out of my life.” “Disappear from my sight completely. Don’t use the love you feel now as a weapon to hurt me in the future.” When everyone else had mocked me for my infertility, it was Joshua who had held my hand, who had stood in front of me and shielded me from the world. His love had made me fearless. But when he let go of my hand and joined the ranks of my tormentors, I had shattered. The pain he inflicted was a hundred, a thousand times worse than the physical wound. The heart he had so carefully mended, he had then crushed with his own two hands. A scratching sound came from the journal, each letter gouged into the page, almost tearing through. “That’s impossible!” “Viv, did you know? After class every day, you always stand by the third pillar outside the classroom to listen to music. I deliberately take a five-minute detour just to see you. Just one glance, and I feel so happy.” “Once, during gym class, I heard you had a fever. I was so worried I ran out of school to buy you medicine, just so you wouldn’t have to suffer for a second longer…” “And…” I cut him off. “I know. I know all of this.” “There was the time I got my period, and you, blushing, bought pads for me.” “And the time the school bully was picking on me. You heard about it and went after him the same day. Neither of you were seen for a week. He ended up with a broken leg and transferred schools. You ended up in the hospital with a head injury.” The journal paused for ten seconds before replying. “You know? How do you know all that?” “If you know all that, then why would you say I’d betray you?” There was a line he didn’t write, but I knew he was thinking it. I love you so much. How could I ever betray you? I could picture his seventeen-year-old face, full of confusion and disbelief. “I know because the future you told me. He told me everything, one story at a time. And he told me he regretted it all.” Joshua had told me he should have listened to everyone, that marrying a barren woman was the biggest mistake of his life, a source of five years of shame. He’d said he should have let the bully have his way with me, that saving me so early had only made me ungrateful and arrogant. He paraded his “heroic deeds” around like trophies, using them to justify his every whim in our marriage, right up to having a child with his mistress. A tear fell onto the journal, blurring the ink. I panicked, afraid I’d ruin it, and tried to wipe it away. But I was too rough. The page tore in two. In my horror, the world around me dissolved. I was no longer in my living room. I was in a hospital room. And in front of me was a seventeen-year-old boy, a thick bandage wrapped around his abdomen. His face was pale, his brow furrowed in pain. It was Joshua. One hand was pressed against the blood-soaked gauze, the other was painstakingly writing in the journal, his lips moving as he formed the words. “Viv, don’t worry. I’ll protect you. I’ll never hurt you…” He was so earnest, so determined, as if this were the most important mission of his life. He had just finished writing when he seemed to sense something. His hand stilled. He looked up, and his eyes met mine. “Viv?” In that instant, I saw them again—the eyes I thought I’d lost forever, as clear and bright as a spring morning. His dry lips parted, but before he could speak, a shrill ringing pierced the air. And just like that, I was back in my messy house, the house the thirty-year-old Joshua had ransacked. The phone was still ringing, a sharp, insistent sound. It was him. The thirty-year-old Joshua. His voice was cold, commanding. “Get down to the coffee shop below my office. Now. Mila and I need to talk to you.” At the same time, new lines appeared in the journal. “Please, believe me. I would never do that.” “I love you. So much that you can have my life if you want it.” The naive promises of a young boy, convinced his love was a rose that would never wilt. I clenched the pen in my hand, my eyes downcast. Fine. If you won’t believe me, I’ll let your future self tell you in person.

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