The Breaking Season: An Arranged Marriage Romance by Linde K.A

Author:Linde, K.A. [Linde, K.A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: K.A. Linde Inc.
Published: 2020-07-20T16:00:00+00:00

21

Katherine

The logical thing to do would have been to take a deep breath and let it all out. Then release the panic quickly settling into my body and try to move on. Maybe even think about why this frightened me so much.

But I rushed right past logic into undeniable, impossible, desperate fear. Panic-inducing, hyperventilating, choking dread. And I couldn’t think and I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t feel. Not anything other than anxiety. There was nothing else, except that one question.

Am I infertile?

Tremors ran through my body. I didn’t know. I didn’t know the answer to that question. I hadn’t been as bad as Melinda, but we’d all been in the same hospital. We’d gone to therapy together for a year after that. She knew all the pains I’d had at the time. There was a reason I’d sharply cut anyone from that time out of my life. I didn’t want a constant reminder of what I’d done to myself and how hard I’d given up on everything.

The only people I still talked to who knew what had happened was my crew. They’d stuck with me through the worst of it and promptly never brought it up again after I demanded they stop babying me.

But now? Now, I felt like I was in free fall.

I hastily canceled my training session. There was no way I was going to be able to compartmentalize this before I saw Rodrigo. I didn’t even know when I’d be able to put myself back together.

The Mercedes dropped me off at my building, and I took the elevator to my penthouse. I marched right over to the wet bar and poured myself a stiff drink. I slurped it down and then poured another. I felt slightly more fortified after the first and took the second over to the couch.

I pulled my MacBook into my lap and did the sensible thing—I Googled my symptoms.

After only a quick perusal, it was clear.

I was going to die a long, painful death.

As with most of the medical information on the internet, it went straight to the direst conclusion. Even as I knew that reading all of this wasn’t going to make me feel any better, I couldn’t seem to stop. I devoured the medical advice, read every story out there about women who were currently anorexic and unable to conceive, and women who had been ten years healthy and still unable to conceive. Then I tipped forward into a deep dive, reading everything I could about what it would be like to be pregnant after having an eating disorder and how all the anxiety could come back when the body started to gain weight. Worse yet, the mind knew it was irrational to have these fears of gaining weight when the women believed they should only be concentrating on the health of the baby. But if I’d learned anything, anorexia was a hundred percent mental. It didn’t matter if a woman wasn’t supposed to think of her weight during pregnancy. It only mattered that she did.

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