Andy attends a baby shower.

She's jealous.

*

Andy decorates the white onesie with pink glitter, drawing a huge heart in the middle.

She squeezes the glitter bottle a little too tight, though, and it goes out of the heart. "Damn it," she mumbles, irritated. "Now it's ugly."

"It was ugly before," Kairi comments without looking at her. She's drawing a very good pie. "What'd you get for Melinda?"

Andy huffs at the insult and puts away the glitter, crossing her arms. Her heart is half-filled, and it does look hideous. It's not her best work—as an elementary school teacher and a baker, she's usually a lot more artistic and creative than this. "I gave her little baby mittens," she answers her friend in a quiet voice. "They were so cute."

When she bought them, she had a hard time wrapping them in the gift bag because she didn't want to let them go. They were yellow with little giraffes.

"Really?" Kairi blinks, reaching for the marker. "I gave her a frickin' sleep mask. She won't be able to get any sleep when that baby's born."

Andy stares at their co-teacher, surrounded by her friends at the gifts table, sipping on their champagne. Melinda is petite, Andy's height, and her stomach is—it's full blown, nine months in, close to her due date. And she's glowing.

Andy bites her lip and looks around. The place is decorated with balloons and confetti and—there's a buffet with good food and amazing desserts, and there's a scrapbook station and a onesie decorating station.

She looks back at Melinda, and her insides churn uncomfortably, imagining herself in her shoes.

Heart heavy, she looks back at the onesie on the table and mutters sullenly, "You're right. It does look ugly."

*

Andy heads to bed early while her husband finishes his shower. She doesn't even have it in her to watch him through the glass.

When he's done, smelling heavenly with his hair damp, he climbs in next to her, pulls her back to his chest and whispers, "You took your medication, sunshine?"

That stings a little—the fact that she needs one.

Andy and Rhysand went to the OB-GYN last week, because they've been trying for a month and all the tests came back negative. Every time she held a stick, bouncing on her feet, excited—they came back negative.

And then she was told she has a hostile uterus, and her first reaction was to laugh—what the hell is a hostile uterus? She imagined it having guns blazing and all.

The doctor explained that her cervix wasn't producing cervical mucus, which is very essential in pregnancy. It was basically attacking and killing the sperm.

Great. Andy was killing Rhysand's sperm.

The doctor had prescribed her a bunch of medication to treat it, and Andy and Rhysand have been trying.

She nods once, not looking at him.

Rhysand's hand goes to her shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. "You okay?" he murmurs. "You wanna go to the nursery?"

Andy feels her heart sink. No, it's been sinking since the negative tests, since their visit at the OB, since shopping for the mittens with the giraffes and since the freaking baby shower.

The nursery they prepared is beautiful. It has a little baby crib with stars and clouds and a moon hanging over it, drawers and dressers, a nursing chair. Andy and Rhysand already bought little shoes and little onesies, too.

When she closes her eyes, there are tears.

Rhysand expected this to happen. He's been expecting this to happen—because every time he wanted to talk about it, Andy would divert the subject. She doesn't want to talk about her hostile uterus with him.

He only sits up, pulling Andy with him, and crushes her in his arms, hand smoothing down her hair.

It doesn't take long for Andy to sob. "Rhys," she chokes out, clutching his shirt. "Rhys, I—I went t-to a baby sh-shower today."

Rhysand rocks them together, kissing her hair. "Oh, sunshine," he mutters.

"What if we—we can't have a child because of me?" she almost wails, wrecked, crying her eyes and heart and soul out. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop," her husband snaps, pulling back to cup her face. His eyebrows are furrowed, worried, concerned. "Baby, stop. It's not your fault."

"I'm killing your sperm!" she sobs.

"Okay, we'll work on it," Rhysand tells her pointedly. "You take your medication, we'll go to the OB, we'll keep trying. Sunshine, I'll make sure we have our baby, okay?"

Andy sniffs, fisting his shirt in her hands, snot in her nose. "And if we really can't?" she whispers.

"We'll adopt," Rhysand says decisively. "We'll go to an orphanage, we'll adopt a kid—the one who's never picked—and we'll take care of them and love them and raise them."

Andy was already planning on adopting—regardless if they had their baby or not. She nods, slumping against his shoulder, and her husband rubs his hands on her back. "Okay," she whispers.

"Okay," Rhysand breathes, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "Okay. I love you. I love you so much. We can do this."

We. Rhysand is in it with her—she's not alone.

Andy hugs him tight. "We can do this," she repeats quietly, and her wedding ring shines under the light.