Seven months. By the time our court mandated reconciliation period ended, our baby would almost be here.
Dr. Patel printed out ultrasound images and handed them to me. I stared at them, unable to look away from the grainy image of our child.
After the ultrasound, Dr. Patel began explaining things to me. Dietary requirements. Medications. Warning signs to watch for. Exercises Viya should be doing. I listened carefully, committing everything to memory.
Then Viya spoke.
"Armaan, can you step out for a moment? I need to discuss something with the doctor. Privately."
I looked at her, confused and a little hurt.
"I should know everything about your health. About the baby's health."
"This is something personal. Female matters. Please."
Female matters. I did not like being excluded, did not like the idea that there were things about her pregnancy I would not know. But I also did not want to push her. Did not want to make her more uncomfortable than she already was.
"Fine," I said reluctantly. "I will be right outside."
I left the examination room and paced the hallway, my mind racing with possibilities. What could she need to discuss that I could not hear? Was something wrong? Was she in pain? Was the baby not okay?
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Each minute felt like an hour.
Finally, the door opened and Viya emerged. Her expression was neutral, giving nothing away.
"Is everything alright?" I asked immediately.
"Everything is fine."
"What did you need to discuss?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
"Viya, if it involves you or the baby, it concerns me."
"It was personal. Private. Not your business."
Frustration flared in my chest.
"Not my business? You are my wife. That baby is mine. How is any of it not my business?"
She walked past me toward the exit.
"Are we leaving or are you going to stand there interrogating me in the hallway?"
I followed her to the car, my jaw clenched. She got in without waiting for me to open her door, buckling herself in with sharp, angry movements.
The drive back home was tense and silent. She stared out the window. I gripped the steering wheel harder than necessary.
This woman was going to kill me. Absolutely kill me.
She was stubborn and infuriating and determined to keep walls between us no matter what I did.
But god help me, I loved her. Loved her more with every passing day, even when she made me want to put my fist through a wall.
And I would keep fighting for her. Keep pushing. Keep proving that I was not going anywhere.
Because she was mine. And I was hers.