Book 2 penalty
+ Purs
“Physical recovery looks excellent,” Dr. Winters confirmed, reviewing Emma’s chart. “I see no reason why you can’t return to normal activities, though I’d still avoid heavy lifting for another week.”
Emma nodded, hyperaware of Alek beside her in the fertility specialist’s office. He’d barely spoken all morning, his silence more unnerving than any hovering.
“Now, let’s discuss your fertility outlook.” Dr. Winters folded her hands on the desk. “With one functioning fallopian tube, your chances of natural conception are reduced but certainly not eliminated. Many women conceive successfully with a single tube.”
Hope flickered in Emma’s chest. “So we could try again?”
“I’d recommend waiting at least three months to allow full healing,” the doctor cautioned. “But yes, natural conception remains possible.”
“And the risks?” Alek asked, his first contribution to the conversation. “Of another ectopic?”
“Somewhat elevated,” Dr. Winters acknowledged. “About 15% of women who’ve had one ectopic pregnancy will experience another. We’d monitor any future pregnancy very closely from the earliest stages.”
Emma felt Alek tense beside her. “What about alternatives?” he asked. “Surrogacy, perhaps?”
The doctor nodded. “Given your history, surrogacy is certainly a valid option. Your eggs could be harvested, fertilized with your husband’s sperm, and the embryo implanted in a surrogate’s uterus.”
“That would eliminate the risk of another ectopic?” Alek pressed.
“Yes, since the pregnancy would occur in the surrogate’s body.”
Emma turned to him, confused by his focus. “Alek, the doctor just said natural conception is still possible.”
“With elevated risks,” he reminded her. “Risks I’m not sure are worth taking.”
A cold feeling spread through Emma’s chest. “That’s not your decision alone.”
Dr. Winters cleared her throat. “Perhaps you two need time to discuss options. There’s no rush to decide anything today.”
In the car afterward, the silence was deafening. Emma stared out the window at passing trees just beginning
to bud.
“You’ve already decided, haven’t you?” she finally asked. “You don’t want to try naturally again.”
Alek’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I watched you nearly bleed to death, Emma. The surgeon said thirty more minutes and you wouldn’t have survived.”
“That doesn’t mean it would happen again.”
“It doesn’t mean it wouldn’t.” He turned to her at a red light, eyes haunted. “I can’t watch you go through that again. I can’t risk losing you.”
“So instead, you want to deny me the chance to carry our child? To experience pregnancy properly?” Emma’s voice rose despite her effort to stay calm. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? Like my body failed, and now you’ve given up on it too?”
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“This isn’t about failure,” Alek insisted as the light changed. “It’s about finding a safer path to parenthood.”
“It’s about control,” Emma countered. “You couldn’t control what happened, so now you’re trying to control
what happens next.”
Alek pulled into their driveway, putting the car in park but making no move to exit. “Is wanting to protect my
wife such a terrible thing?”
“Protection and control aren’t the same,” Emma said softly. “One comes from love, the other from fear.”
She stepped from the car, unable to continue the conversation that felt increasingly like talking across an unbridgeable divide.
Inside, Emma retreated to her office, closing the door–a clear signal she needed space. She opened her laptop, losing herself in work emails and team reports, finding comfort in the familiar challenges of hockey
operations.
Hours passed. She heard Alek moving around the house but didn’t emerge. At some point, he left a sandwich and water outside her door, knocking once to alert her before retreating.
As evening fell, Emma’s phone rang–her grandfather.
“How was the appointment?” Franklin asked without preamble.
Emma hesitated. “How did you know about that?”
“Walter keeps my calendar updated with family commitments. Don’t change the subject.”
“It was…” Emma searched for a word that wouldn’t worry him. “Informative.”
“And what’s wrong between you and Aleksander?”
Emma nearly dropped the phone. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“He called to check on me earlier. Sounded like someone died.” Franklin paused. “What’s really going on, Emmy? And don’t tell me appendicitis again. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
The tears came suddenly, without warning. Through them, Emma found herself telling her grandfather everything–the pregnancy, the rupture, the surgery, the growing distance with Alek.
Franklin listened in silence until she finished.
“Oh, my dear girl,” he said finally, voice gentle in a way she rarely heard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you, with your heart-”
“That’s my job,” Franklin interrupted. “To worry about you, not the other way around.”
“What do I do, Grandpa?” Emma whispered. “I feel like I’m losing Alek too, and I don’t know how to reach him.”
Franklin sighed. “You know what happens when a player tries to skate through an injury instead of healing
properly?”
“They make it worse,” Emma said automatically.
“Exactly. You two are trying to skate through grief without addressing the injury.” His voice softened. “Some penalties have to be served, Emmy. No matter how unfair they seem.”
After hanging up, Emma opened her office door to find Alek sitting on the floor in the hallway, head in his
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hands. He looked up, eyes red–rimmed.
“I found the box open in my closet,” he said. “You saw everything.”
Emma nodded, sliding down the wall to sit opposite him in the hallway. “Why did you hide it away?”
“I thought seeing it would hurt you more.” Alek’s voice was rough. “I was trying to protect you from more pain.”
“I needed to see it,” Emma said. “To know it was real. That we lost something real.”
They sat in silence, the hallway between them like a demilitarized zone–not quite together, not quite apart.
“I’m scared, Emma,” Alek admitted finally. “Scared of losing you. Scared of saying the wrong thing. Scared this
will break us.”
Emma reached across the hallway, offering her hand. After a moment, he took it, his large palm engulfing
hers.
“I’m scared too,” she whispered. “But we can’t keep serving this penalty in silence.”
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