Acacia

She remained silent, focusing on scrubbing off a stubborn spot from the pan. It was unusual for her to leave her kitchen untidy after a meal. The evening breeze drew his attention to the open windows. The soil in the flower pot next to the window had cracked, with most of the honey-colored petals fallen off. The green stem was blemished with brown drying spots. He realized they had forgotten to water the plant every morning before leaving the house. He remembered the Japanese-born husband of his sister, who always bowed his head after speaking. Instead of a cutlery set or tea flask, he had gifted them a blossoming flower with a bow as a symbol of love and good luck, emphasizing the need to nurture it like a baby. His sister had simply nodded in response. They followed his instructions out of curiosity during their honeymoon and took turns caring for the plant when they returned to work. When he received a promotion, they diligently watered the plant and tended to the soil. However, during her hospitalization, he neglected the plant, consumed by worry. He took responsibility for forgetting to water it and attempted to revive it by pouring water through the cracks in the soil. The earthy smell filled the air, but the flowers still clung to their stems. He hoped they had not suffered the same fate. As he closed the curtains, several mosquitoes escaped towards the ceiling before he could catch them. They had purchased a mosquito net for their child a year ago, which he had stored in the garage when the child did not arrive.

“We might need to sleep under the net tonight,” he said, reaching for the key to search for it among the boxes filled with the baby’s clothes. The memories that would resurface were more daunting than the mosquito bites, which could easily be treated with cocoa butter.

Returning to the dining table, he found her drying her hands. They sat facing each other, the envelope placed between them.

She had overheard his question and was unsure of what to do. “What if it’s not what we expect?” she began, “The symptoms remember?

He nodded, understanding her concern.

She nodded, although her doubts still haunted her. “It could have been anything that caused it – the food in one of the restaurants or too much work in the office,” she continued. “I just don’t know if I am ready to go through this again,” she confessed, lowering her head. The excitement, the planning, the celebration that had brought the family together – all of it was short-lived when she started bleeding every other time. Her in-laws and friends booked her appointments with one consultant after another, with the same answers echoing in her ears:

“There is nothing wrong with you. You need to be patient. Don’t stress yourself.”

“You can do it because I am here with you this time,” he said, cupping her hands in his and rubbing them softly. He felt guilty for leaving her to pursue his master’s degree in Austria in hopes of providing a better life for them. He didn’t tell her that he also needed a break from the drama and to gather himself. However, that didn’t happen. He felt lost among strangers in the foreign land. When he mentioned his family in conversations, people wanted to see pictures of his wife and children.

“No kids yet. We are…. not in a hurry,” he said.

The surprised expressions on their faces spoke volumes. His classmates from his country frowned in disappointment, while the American classmate raised his brow in fascination. As he held his degree in his hand, it felt like a mere piece of paper that had consumed his time. He lingered for another year, indulging in parties and dancing with women in the hope that news of his reckless behavior would reach home. He wished she would lose interest, grow tired of him, or stop calling. However, she remained faithful, making him her priority. Determined to save her from the pain, he returned home.

She sighed and accepted the letter from him. Delicately tearing it open, she unfolded the neatly folded paper, holding his hand as if seeking his support.

Her eyes fell to the bottom of the letter, where the bold writing caught her attention. She kept her head bowed for a moment, her heart racing. Anxiously, he asked, “Well, what does it say?”

Slowly lifting her head, she smiled and replied, “It says we are not pregnant.”

Their hands remained intertwined as they processed the familiar disappointment. “It’s okay, my dear,” he reassured her, moving his chair closer to her and gently rubbing her back. “We can try again.”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. This time, she didn’t cry. She had already made a difficult decision to undergo a procedure before he returned, cutting off any chance of pregnancy. The pressure from her own family, the images of his extravagant life in Austria, and the weariness in her friends’ eyes had all weighed heavily on her. She was exhausted. She would tell him about it eventually, but not now. Perhaps when he, too, reached his limit.