A Second Opinion

Viola and Hugo kept hitting the wall. Baby-making turned into something they did on schedule, every window tracked, every moan forced. Hugo flat-out refused tests. Said his swimmers were fine and to hell with rubber-gloved strangers. So she floated artificial insemination. The word made his face twist like she'd offered him a syringe full of battery acid. Voices got loud. She grabbed her keys, slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame. Daniel’s office smelled like antiseptic and bad memories. He leaned back against the exam table while he walked her through the steps—hormone shots, egg retrieval, a stranger’s sperm washed and spun—each line item more expensive than the last. She watched his mouth move, felt the old heat flicker to life. Complicated. Pricey. And still the oldest route was right in front of her. She crossed her legs, let her skirt ride an inch higher, and wondered how fast she could get him to forget he was supposed to be professional.