Disclaimer: All Twilight names, places and characteristics belong to the talented Stephenie Meyer. I just play with her toys.

Authors note: This little number has been playing in my mind for a couple of weeks and I just had to get it written down. I fought the urge not to post it but the chapter won! This chapter is very short, I suppose it's more of a prologue. It's length is more to see the reaction I receive from it.

Maybe Baby

"How many minutes has it been?"

"Two" I breathed.

"Okay" my husband Emmett reached for my hand from his monthly seat on the edge of the bathtub. I was sitting on the closed toilet lid, tapping the little white stick on my leg. This had become our routine every third week of the month for as long as we could remember. Three minutes had passed, it was time. I closed my eyes and breathed, I bounced back to reality feeling my hand squeezed. Opening them I saw my husband's assuring smile, he just nodded. I nodded in response and looked at the pregnancy test.


Clenching my eyes shut, I bit down on my bottom lip, silently begging for the tears not to come. Instead I waited for Emmett to speak, to utter those words he did every time I failed to become pregnant.

"Next month baby"

He meant well, I knew that. In my mind, I was slowly crumbling; I was terrified of cracking up. I felt like a failure of a woman, like I didn't deserve to be one. Women were supposed to bare children. In the last five years I'd been pregnant seven times, no six times, six miscarriages and one 'hysterical' pregnancy. I'd ached so much to be a mother, my own body betrayed me and tricked me into thinking I was pregnant. That was the hardest one to get my head round. I opened my eyes to find Emmett standing, I could just about see him through the tears pooling in my eyelids. He knelt in front of me and smiled, I was so broken hearted I couldn't smile back at those little cheek dimples I loved so much. My arm dropped and hovered above the trash can, my fingers released its hold on the pregnancy test and in it fell, joining the other negative tests and ovulation sticks. Emmett's lips reached up and pressed gently against my forehead, and then he shuffled back. He knew what was coming. I'd cried, now I was angry, I stood and took a deep breath. Emmett opened the bathroom door and I stormed out, my Christian Louboutin heels clicking with each anger fuelled step. I closed myself in our bedroom and curled up in the large leather armchair we kept in the corner, it was huge, it was my comfort, when Emmett worked late in the evenings, and I'd often fall asleep here waiting for him. I didn't know what Emmett did with himself those few hours I'd spend on my own, lamenting our lack of fertility. I could only wonder…

Would we ever be parents?

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