“Oh crap, not again,” Em groaned. She made it to the bathroom with seconds to spare. Hello, big white elephant. Her arms went around the pan and she heaved, but nothing came up. These drugs were killing her. First, the hot flushes, as if she was going through the goddamn menopause—that would not be fucking funny—then, the bouts of depression and anxiety about the whole egg harvesting process, and don’t even get her started on the headaches. Those utter bastards. At times, the pain was so acute, she couldn’t even get out of bed. Poor David had put up blackout blinds because the slightest sliver of light creeping through the window was like a hot knife to her skull.

Still, it was worth it, right? She’d even overcome the trauma of having to stab herself with a needle every day. Apparently, it was to encourage her body to produce more eggs so when the surgeons got in there, they had plenty to go at.

Today was a big day though. One more hormone injection—to help the buggers mature—and that was it. Tomorrow she’d get the good drugs, the ones that would knock her out, and then it was harvest time.

It had taken them three months to get to this point. During that time, Tally had given up drinking, upped her exercise, grabbed lots of sleep. Her friend was taking the whole IVF thing extremely seriously.

God, she loved Tal—so bloody much— and what an amazing friend she was. There were no words for the gratitude Em felt about her friend’s selfless act. How many women would put their bodies through the trauma of pregnancy and childbirth, only to hand over the baby at the end of it?

Em had asked Tally more than once in recent months whether she had any doubts she’d be able to simply hand over the baby at the end, but Tally had been adamant. At Cash’s insistence, she’d seen a psychiatrist who had assessed her state of mind. The report had come back as a big fat A-OK. Apparently, Tally could compartmentalise like a pro.

“Em.” David’s tentative voice was followed up by a tap on the bathroom door. “You okay, babe?” He came in holding the obligatory diet soda—the only thing that took away the awful taste in her mouth after one of these episodes—and crouched beside her. “Hanging in there?”

“Just about.” She downed the entire drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Get me up.”

David captured her hand and helped her to her feet. “Almost there.”

“I know… and then it’s Tally who’ll have the morning sickness, hopefully.” Em was under no illusion about the success rates for IVF. They were horrible, around thirty percent for someone of Tally’s age. She hoped that because Tal’s body had already produced two kids that it would remember and be all like “Okay, I got this”, and just hang on to that little embryo for all it was worth.

“And in between the two of you grabbing all the attention, I get my moment in the spotlight tomorrow. Just me, a bunch of porno mags, and a plastic cup.”

Em laughed, her nausea receding. Usually after a bout of sickness, the headache would start, but so far, touch wood, there were no signs. Maybe her body was finally adjusting to the medication – right before she didn’t need to take it anymore.

“Aww, honey, just lie back and think of England.”

“I’ll lie back and think of you.”

He snagged her around the waist, moving in for a kiss despite the fact she’d been gagging only moments before. Em knew David didn’t care about things like that. He captured her mouth with his, kissing her long and deep and hard. Everything south of her navel clenched. Her attraction to her husband seemed to grow every year, the trouble conceiving bringing them closer together, rather than pushing them apart.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Em murmured against his lips.

David caressed his thumb over her cheek. “Shall we go?”

She nodded. “It’s party time.”

Em changed into a hospital gown—why did they always have a large gap in the back—and settled on the bed. After Em had mentioned that the sickness and headaches were still on-going, the fertility doctor wanted to do a quick exam before pumping her with the necessary drugs to catapult her eggs into adulthood—in the egg world, that is.

“Stop worrying,” David soothed, correctly assessing her inner turmoil. “They’re just making sure everything is okay.”

“Yeah, but did you see her face when I told her how many times I was being sick? What if I’m sick? What if there’s something going on that stops them harvesting my eggs? What if—”

David placed his finger over her lips. “Stop with the ‘What If’s’, Em. All you’re doing is getting yourself more worked up and more stressed, and for what? Let the doctor examine you, and then, depending on what she says, we’ll take it from there, okay?”

Em nodded, but inside, panic was having a goddamn party. With everything that had happened, it was natural for her to think the worst.

A tap came at the door, and Em called out, “Come in.”

Dr Nylan, their fertility specialist, entered the room. “Okay, Emmalee, let’s give you a quick check over and then we can get on with the hormone injection.”

David sat beside her, his large hand covering her smaller one. He must have felt her trembling because he squeezed and, when she looked at him, he winked.

The doctor took her blood pressure, looked in her eyes, felt her abdomen, and asked a few more questions. Seemingly satisfied, she nodded. “We’ll just do a quick internal exam. Is that okay, Emmalee?”

Em nodded. Being poked and prodded and put in embarrassing situations was the norm for a woman and internal exams were no different. She followed the doctor’s instructions about where to put her legs, and then lay back and closed her eyes. The pressure of the doctor’s fingers burrowing inside wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either.

“Hmm,” the doctor murmured.

What does that mean?

She removed her hand, stripped off the plastic glove, and dropped it into a medical waste bin.

“Is everything okay?” David asked. Em looked between them, too afraid of the answer to get in first.

“Emmalee, I’d like to do a blood test, if I may. I’ll get the results rushed through, which means I should be able to get them back in about forty-eight hours but, until then, I’d like to hold off on giving you the hormone injection.”

“Why?” Em asked, sitting up. Her mouth had dried up which made swallowing difficult. “What’s wrong?”

Dr Nylan patted her shoulder. “Let’s take that blood, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay,” Em said, hysteria setting in. “Until you tell me what you think you know, I’m not agreeing to anything.”

The doctor scratched her forehead, her discomfort with Em’s refusal evident. “Emmalee, until I get your bloods back, I’m guessing, and guesswork isn’t a good way to practice medicine. I’d rather have the facts in front of me before we go jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m sick, aren’t I?” Em said, grasping for David’s hand once more. “There’s something wrong with me.”

The doctor sighed. “No, Emmalee, you’re not sick.”

“Then what? Why do you need to do a blood test if I’m not sick? Why can’t you give me the hormone injection already and be done with it?”

Dr Nylan turned her attention to David, but if she thought she’d get any help from him she was very much mistaken. He was wearing his “I’m with my wife” look. The doctor rubbed her lips together and blew out a long breath through her nose.

“Okay, Emmalee, but I want you to know I’m not happy about this.”

“Noted,” Em said. “Shoot.”

“There’s a thickening of your cervix.”

Em frowned. “What does that mean?”

The doctor hesitated, then said, “It could, and I emphasise the word could, mean you’re pregnant.”

Em’s mouth fell open. She turned to David whose expression must surely mirror her own—confusion, tinged with a healthy dose of “What The Fuck?” and, hiding away at the back, the merest hint of hope.

“Pregnant? But… but that can’t be right, I can’t get pregnant. That’s why we’re going through all this. That’s why my best friend is acting as a surrogate. What does this mean?”

“I don’t know, Emmalee, which is why I wanted to get the blood test results first. If, and I stress again if, you are pregnant, then you’re very newly pregnant. Only the blood test will tell us for sure at this stage. The last thing I wanted to do was get your hopes up, only for the reason to be some sort of reaction to the drugs, or something else entirely. But if you are pregnant, the last thing I want to do is pump you full of unnecessary hormones.”

“So, what do we do?” David asked.

“Persuade your wife to let me take her blood,” Dr Nylan said wryly, a slight twitch to her lips.

Em chuckled, Dr Nylan was a hoot. Em had got to know her really well over the last few months, and she liked her a lot. Holding out her arm, she said, “Stab me with that needle, doc.”

Half an hour later, Em and David were back in the car, driving home, lost in their own thoughts. Em’s mind was racing, throwing up all sorts of concerns and theories. Hell, it was going to be a long two days.

“We need to tell Tally and Cash,” David said. “She’ll be expecting to go to the clinic tomorrow.”

Em nodded. “I’ll call her tonight. I just need…” She scrubbed her face. “I need a few hours to get my head around what this could mean, if it comes back positive, that is.”

David parked the car outside their home. He switched off the engine, and then twisted in his seat and looked directly at her. “And if it isn’t positive?”

Em shrugged, outwardly nonchalant, inwardly terrified. “Then we go on as we were. Nothing’s changed.”

Everything’s changed.

Now she understood why the doctor had been so reluctant to share her unsubstantiated theory. It had been a mistake to push, because now she had hope, and hope was a dangerous thing. Hope led to bouts of intense depression, of not being able to breathe, of wondering why she was being punished. Hope led to crushing disappointment.

Hope was the path to destruction.