Winter in Riverdale brought grumpiness upon everybody each year. This year was no different as the trees were naked, leafless and showing off their intricate branches.
The winds got angrier, swifter, and harder at nights, and it whipped everything along its path. However, Sharon's face was already full of complaints from what the day had to offer. Even in summer, when the sun lay its cheerful rays on the green trees, Sharon had the same, ugly frown, unless her sweetheart was around.
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The fireplace crackled with blazing logs as Sharon, wearing a blanket, was seated on a cushioned armchair. She put two palms facing the fire, rubbed them together, and warmly exhaled on the rubbing to provide more heat. Their kitchen was part of the living room due to low budget—and also due to Sharon's joblessness—and Shawn watched her struggling to be warm, while pouring a mug of steaming milk.
She felt his caring eyes on her. He was probably thinking about giving her warmth and a good loving to help her sleep. Perhaps to tender her firmly and tell her that he was there for her. Gazing at the waving flames, she thinks what would become of him if he knew what her miserable life forced into her realm of imagination. What if she told him what roamed through her mind, while he thrived at the garage to make their living?
Riverdale was no place for women who couldn't bear children. Having no job was also ill-mannered around here, but if she had a job, it would be impossible to tell her new colleagues that she had been married for five years and all she could give her husband was delightful sounds in bed. Her father had become a drunkard for having a daughter, his only child, so worthless. Her mother suffered his alcoholic rage every night, and who knew what he had done to her so far?
Shawn's workmates despised his wife and were plain about it. She had overheard their wives' conversation at a grocery store: "My husband calls her a lazy bastard who's good for nothing, and you can see why, don't you?" "Sure. That poor man ought to kick her out and bring himself a blessed one. She is cursed."
When they conversed, they had known she was shopping behind them on the same aisle, but why they didn't hold back was fathomable. A woman like her had not a place in this world. She knew her worth and never told it to Shawn because it would break his heart.
Sharon pulled her hair out until her fists were full of it, when the house was empty and Shawn at the garage. She broke a glass on the floor and walked on the shards since Shawn wouldn't see the wounds there. Her teeth gritted, and her jaws shivered to the absurdly deserving agony. Why? Her mind was toxic and drove her to madness. The town folk fathomed her more than she did herself. "She is cursed."
Shawn brought the mug of milk and handed it to her, intervening her rushing mind. She unplugged her stare at the fireplace, as if waking up just now, and paid a small smile for the mug of milk. Dragging another armchair, he took a seat beside her. Her mind shouldered too much everyday, and she couldn't take it anymore; she had decided to spill the beans tonight.
"Are you getting warmer?" he said.
"Yes, love. Thank you." She squirmed in her seat.
"Hey," he took her hand. "Are you okay?"
Her eyes slowly moved upward and met his. "I'm tired of this."
"What do you mean?" His smile was fading in bewilderment.
She shrugged. "My life." Life hurts so much that I want to hurt myself, she wanted to say. "I'm tired of it."
Disappointed, he fumbled on ideas to see what he could do to straighten it.
"I want a child, a son. I don't mind a daughter too. I just need one. I can't put up with everybody anymore, love." She sipped some air. "I want to have a child at any cost."
"What? What does that mean?" He started to discern the shape of this conversation, his blood running faster.
Her embarrassment and humiliation were maddening her, though she had hidden her scars from him. It had been her thought for as long as she remembered. He deserved to know. "I mean..." She feared if he would kick her out the next moment. The pain in her eyes were plaguing his guts.
"Go ahead, baby. You know you can tell me anything." She held his hand tight with both of her hands and spoke rapidly. "Artificial insemination is the only way and..."
His eyes bulged with fear, his lips were moving, but didn't form words.
"Hear me out, love. It is the only way, please."
He looked away and seemed ashamed to allow any more glance at her. "Let go of my hand." His firm hand then snapped out of hers. "Good night."
Silently, he stood and treaded away. As soon as he closed the bedroom door behind him, she clawed at her face and tore her cheeks. Tears streamed down, but she didn't weep or cry; it poured without her realization to smear the spouting blood.
In the bedroom, Shawn was lying on the bed, his mouth ajar as he was staring at the ceiling. If he permitted her insanity, it would change their lives forever, and probably not for the good. What was she becoming?
He himself wanted a child or two but adopting the artificial insemination method can never be the answer... or could it? His heart was hammering. I want a boy too, he mused, swallowing a cold drop of saliva. I want a boy too.