This is just a work of fiction. I mean no harm or disrespect to the Mays. Also, a few fast facts: women with PCOS usually start menopause two years later than women who don’t have it, and it’s more likely that they will get pregnant at an older age due to chronic anovulation, also known as not ovulating. Women with PCOS have an increased follicle and oocyte count, an increased follicle reserve, and a slower rate of follicle breakdown. Enjoy!
The boxes were piled high in the small bedroom. She could see the particles of dust dancing in the light streaming through the window. In two months, she would be fifty, and she sighed as she leaned against the door frame. She knew it was time, but a part of her wanted to hold onto a bit of hope. She could feel Philip’s arms slide around her waist, and she shivered when his lips touched her neck.
“Thinking?” He asked softly.
She nodded, hands coming to hold his over her stomach. “I think it’s time we got rid of it all. None of it has been used,” she remarked sadly.
He nuzzled her neck, pulling her closer. “Come on. Looking at this is never good for you.”
“Bed. We are going to cuddle and nap and have some quality time together. It’s Saturday morning, and you being up this early makes no sense.”
“Philip,” she started before his finger pressed against her lips.
His hands held hers. “No. You aren’t the boss today.”
Her smile gave away her compliance as she allowed herself to be guided back to their bedroom. She groaned when her body hit the soft mattress. “Good idea, darling.”
He smiled as he laid beside her. He brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it before laying beside her and staring at the ceiling. “I knew you would agree with me.”
“It’s been three years now,” she remarked quietly. Her fingers began to fiddle with his ring, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth.
He grinned when he felt her familiar habit kick in. He quickly turned serious when he remembered what they were discussing. “How do you feel about it?”
“Sad, of course, but I suppose it’s time to move on.”
“Do you want to talk about it some?”
She turned to face him, rolling into his body and tucking herself against him. “No. I just want you to hold me.”
Philip’s hand ran over the blanket as he sat in the floor, folding and sorting clothes. He could feel the tears collecting in his eyes and removed his glasses so he could wipe at them. He heard Theresa sniffle, and he turned, seeing her hold a handkerchief to her nose. “Love?”
“I didn’t think it would be this hard is all,” she told him quietly. “I thought it would be better by now.”
His sad smile made her tear up more. “So did I.”
“At least it will all go to good use. The church said they already had someone in mind.”
He nodded, letting his eyes drift back to his unfinished task. He felt her crouch down and sit beside him before laying her head against his shoulder. “Do you remember when we bought this house?”
“Yes,” she answered softly, “I was so upset to give up my kitchen at our old house.”
Philip laughed, squeezing her leg gently. “But we built you a new one here. I was happy to see that house go. We had too much heartbreak there.”
“We’ve had heartbreak here. More, I’d say.” She turned to study his profile and reached up to stroke his face. “Do you think about it often?”
His eyes met hers, and he stared intently. “Every day.”
They sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity before she stood. “I should start dinner.”
“I love you, Tessa,” he called softly.
She turned to look at him, offering a watery smile. “I love you too.”
They had just left her party, and she sighed as they walked into the house. “That was fun. I feel old,” she teased.
“Old? Never.” Philip’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, kissing her gently. “Is it bad that I was happy to get out of there?”
“No,” she smiled, “I was too.”
His hands slid down her arms to hold hers before he smirked. “I can finally give you your gift.”
“Gift? You gave me that handbag that was entirely too expensive,” she said with a mock glare.
“This one is a bit more personal than a handbag. Stay right there.” He disappeared into his office.
Kicking her heels off, she plopped down on the couch, closing her eyes as her body melted into it. She could hear him shuffling things around before a loud band followed with, “I’m fine.” Her eyes fluttered shut again as the past fifty years flashed through her memory. The couch dipped beside her, and she felt something heavy being placed in her lap. “Is it a book?” She asked without looking at him or the present.
“Of sorts,” he said, kissing her cheek.
Her lips curled into a grin as she saw the scrapbook. Flipping it open, she began to laugh. Photos from her childhood and their time at Oxford filled the pages. “This is amazing, darling.”
“It’s all fifty years of your life mapped out in pictures and little mementoes,” he explained excitedly, flipping to the pictures of them at their wedding reception. “Even the tipsy ones.”
“I still can’t believe you pulled my garter off with your teeth in front of my father,” she laughed out.
His eyes widened as he looked at her. “Neither can I! When you told me the next day, I was mortified!”
“And to think, after all that flirting, you passed out on me,” she teased.
He blushed, hand going to the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, love.”
“I think I’m the only woman in the world who can say she was a virgin for the better part of a week after being married.”
“I can’t help I got the flu,” he defended. “It’s Damien’s fault. He pushed me in that pond.”
Leaning in, she kissed his cheek. “I think we made up for it.”
“We did. Now look at the rest while I make us some tea.” He pranced into the kitchen, leaving her alone with the book. He had spent the better part of six months putting it together for her, and he knew she would love it. Well, he thought she would anyway. There were things in there that would tug at her heart strings, and he just hoped she wouldn’t turn into a sobbing mess.
Her fingers flipped the pages as her eyes took in the pictures. Occasionally, she would find a little note or a program from whatever event the page was dedicated to. She let out a small gasp when she came to the middle of the book. The light blue paper made her tear up as she saw the little hospital band and the little footprints. Her fingers traced over them slowly, remembering it all as though it was yesterday.
He watched her from the doorway, waiting for her reaction. He set the tea down, rejoining her on the couch and pulling her close. “Well?”
“It’s perfect, Philip. I love it,” she whispered through her tears.
He kissed her head softly. “I’m sorry that we only have pictures.”
“I’d rather have pictures than nothing at all, and I’ll always have you,” she told him before kissing him softly.
Philip slowly lifted the box out of the boot of his car as another church member helped pull the ones from the backseat. He could see his wife standing and talking with a few of the other women while he completed the task at hand. There was a certain sadness as he did, something almost heartbreaking. When he was sure there was nothing left, he walked over, gently slipping his arm around her waist and tugging her close. “Are you ready? It’s very chilly, and I’d hate for you to catch a cold,” he whispered in her ear while the group was distracted.
“Yes. Let me say goodbye,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.
It was twenty minutes later that they were climbing in the car. The ride was silent, both reflecting on the day as they made the familiar trip back home. Without saying anything, she reached over and grabbed his hand, holding on like it was the last time they’d see each other.
The house was too quiet for either of their liking as they sat at the kitchen table, picking at their lunch of leftovers from the night before. “It’s odd, isn’t it?” She asked out of nowhere.
“It is. That room is empty now.”
“We could turn it into a walk-in closet for me. You could get some space back for your clothes,” she teased.
“That’s your Christmas present sorted then,” he told her with a smile.
She giggled before looking down and brushing her fringe out of her eyes. “I think I want to go back to therapy. I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”
His hand instinctively grabbed hers on the table. “Of course, darling.”
“I thin we both should go. Together. As a couple. I know it didn’t cause any problems between us, but it might do us some good to get everything out in the open. You never really got grieve,” she stated.
She had a point. He didn’t. He was too worried about her, and the fragility of her state of mind. It had taken months to pick up the pieces after it had happened, and when the weight of it all had finally hit him, he had no idea how to cope with it. It was their marriage’s only blind spot; neither of them talked about it, and neither of them dared to ask the other how they really felt. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” She smiled at him again before beginning to clear their plates. “I know we don’t talk about it, about him,” she paused, “but I’d like us to start.”
His eyes took in the soft and sad look in her eyes and he gave a weak smile. “Me too.”
Theresa’s soft moan made him smile as he worked away at the arches of her feet. He was on one end of the couch while she laid with her head at the opposite end. They were attempting to recover from the massive amount of food they had eaten earlier before they opened gifts. “Did you ever open that card you got?” He asked.
“No. I assume it’s from a constituent.” She didn’t open her eyes or shift; her body was too relaxed to move.
He smirked, hand starting to tickle her feet as her laugh rang through the house. “Does that tickle?” He asked cockily.
“Philip May, if you don’t stop, I’ll end up kicking you in the face,” she said as she tried to extract herself and catch her breath.
He grabbed her ankle, yanking her to lay on her back as before climbing over her. “I love you though.”
“I love you too,” she pouted, “but that wasn’t nice.”
He kissed her gently. “Better?”
“Only a little.” She held out her thumb and index finger to indicate how much. “Tea and some biscuits would help.”
“As you wish, darling,” he complied, kissing her one more time and going to start the kettle.
Smiling to herself, she sat up and looked at the stack of mail on the end table. She grabbed it and went straight to the large, red envelope that she assumed was a late Christmas card. The cover was intricately decorated with swirls of gold and silver, creating a Christmas tree. The inside was blank, but there was a folded piece of paper and a few pictures. Opening the letter, Theresa teared up as she began reading.
I don’t know who you are, but I cannot begin to express the gratitude I have for what you have done for me. My name is Caroline, and the things you donated to the church have saved my life. I was in an abusive relationship for three years, and I just recently gave birth. I knew I needed to leave, but I had neither the resources or the money. My main concern was for my newborn son, Jamie. I knew I could never afford all the things we had already bought on my own. But thanks to you, I’m away from the violence and terror that I had become so accustomed to. The church said that you wished to remain anonymous, and I hope you don’t mind that I gave this to the vicar to give to you. They mentioned you had lost your baby, and I am so sorry. But you helped save mine. I could never repay you for that. Thank you for being so kind, and thanking you for being my angel, even if I never know you.
Her hand trembled as she looked down at the pictures of the small baby in the crib that was meant to be her son’s, and she could feel the tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She felt Philip pull her into his side as his eyes scanned the short letter. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she said as her hands wiped at her eyes. “I really am happy that all of it is being used and went to someone who needed it.”
“It’s hard because we never got to see ours in the crib or the onesies, and you never got to nurse him or watch him sleep. It’s okay, love,” Philip soothed gently, hand making passes up and down her arm.
She nodded, picking up one of the pictures and studying it carefully. “He does look darling, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Philip acknowledged, “those dimples are something else, and it’s all because of you. You helped them.”
“We helped them,” Theresa told him. “We, you, me, and our little boy, helped them.”
He kissed her head, agreeing with a nod. “Are you going to write her back?”
She shook her head. “She doesn’t need to know who I am, but I do think we should put his photo in my book. I want it on the same page as him.”
“Of course, love. Can I ask why?”
Theresa smiled at him sadly. “Sometimes I think that we were never meant to have him. Sometimes I think he was always meant to go to someone else,” she said softly as her finger traced the picture, “and I’m okay with that.”
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