My mom sighs and leans back, regarding me with a weary expression. “Of course we’re not okay with that. But we can’t live our lives in denial, no matter how much your dad might want to try. Obviously, this is not what we wanted for you, but—” She stops and heaves another sigh before saying, “Look, honey, if this is what you want, if he really does make you as happy as you say, then it’s not our place to interfere. We just want you happy and healthy. You know that, right?”

“I do, Mom.” I blink rapidly, trying to contain a fresh influx of emotional tears. “I do.”

“Good.” She smiles, and I’m pretty sure I see her eyes glistening with tears of her own. “Now tell me all about it. Have you been sick? Have you been tired? How did you find out? Was it an accident?”

And for the next hour, my mom and I talk about babies and pregnancy. She tells me all about her own experience—I was an oops baby for her and Dad, conceived during their honeymoon—and I explain that I hurt my arm when I was abducted by the terrorists and had to have the implant out for a short time. It’s the closest I can come to the truth: that Al-Quadar cut the implant out of my arm because they mistook it for a tracking device. My parents know about my abduction from the mall—I had to explain my disappearance to them somehow—but I didn’t tell them the full story.

They have no idea that their daughter acted as bait to save her abductor’s life and killed a man in cold blood.

By the time we finally wrap up our conversation, it’s dark outside, and I’m beginning to feel tired. As soon as we disconnect, I shower, brush my teeth, and get in bed to wait for Julian.

After a while, my eyelids grow heavy, and I feel the lethargy of sleep stealing over me. As my mind begins to drift, an image appears in front of my eyes: that of a girl bound and helpless, tied to a chair in the middle of a large, white-walled room. Her hair, however, is not blond.

It’s dark… and her belly is swollen with child.

13

Julian

It’s nearly midnight by the time I finish work and get to our bedroom. Entering the room, I turn on the bedside lamp and see that Nora is already asleep, curled up under the blanket. I shower and join her there, pulling her naked body to me as soon as I get under the sheets. She fits me perfectly, her curvy little ass nestling against my groin and her neck pillowed on my outstretched arm. My other arm, bent, rests on her side, my hand cupping one small, firm breast.

A breast that feels a little plumper than before, reminding me that her body is changing.

It’s bizarre how erotic I find that knowledge, how the thought of Nora growing round with child turns me on. I’ve never thought of pregnant women as being sexy, but with my wife, I find myself obsessed with her still-slim body, fascinated by its possibilities. My sex drive, always strong, is through the roof these days, and it’s all I can do not to attack her constantly.