It's still dark when I wake up. I look over to the right side of the bed where I typically find my wife, sound asleep. This morning, however, I reach out only to be greeted with cold sheets. I turn to look at the alarm, it reads 5:45 a.m. 30 minutes before I had set my alarm. I close my eyes and decide to take what time I had left to rest. I lay there for 10 minutes, and despite being exhausted, sleep does not come. I toss and turn for another 20 minutes until my alarm screeches my limit. I sit up, run my hair through my hands, reach over to the nightstand and push the off button on the alarm. I'm once again greeted with silence. I throw the covers from my body and shiver at the unwelcoming cold. I walk over to the bathroom and turn the shower on. The steam immediately begins to fog up the glass. I return to the bedroom portion of the room to retrieve my clothes. I sit them neatly on the sink counter, remove my boxers, and step into the shower. The hot water scorches my body but I do not move away. Instead, I let it soak into my skin and let the tension in my muscles from a bad night of sleep wash away. I run the body bar across my body as quickly as I can, and scour my hair with shampoo. When the soap completely washes from me, I turn off the water and step out and wrap a towel around my waist. I approach the fogged mirror and find my toothbrush. I apply a small amount of Arm and Hammer advanced whitening toothpaste and scrub away the morning breath. I dry off and get dressed. I head downstairs to the kitchen to find my wife cooking breakfast. In my place at the table, a mug of coffee, eggs, toast, bacon and sausage greet me. I sit and the table and sip my coffee.
“Good morning.” I say.
“Today's the big day.” Claire replies. She does not turn to look at me when she speaks and seems distracted by the preparation of her own breakfast.
“I know. I didn't think it would come so soon.”
“Well, I'm exhausted. I hardly slept at all last night, I was so excited for you,” No matter what the situation is, my wife somehow found a way to always make the situation about her.
“But despite the fact that I was exhausted, I still came down here to make you breakfast.”
“It's really good, I appreciate it.” My wife clicks off the stove and sits down with her own breakfast, across from me. She begins rambling about the next door neighbors dog and how it tore up her christmas inflatables, and complains about the blizzard that we will be receiving this weekend. She talks with her mouth full and the food clings to the sides of her mouth. It annoys me. There is an awkward silence that falls in the kitchen.
“I can't believe you're presenting your idea to the CEO of the company! Oh I bet you're so excited! We'll have so much money.. Then maybe we can start thinking about having kids? ” she asks sheepishly.
“You know I really want them, Jason. It'll be good for us.” She pries.
I clench my teeth. She knows how I feel about having children. When we agreed to get married, one of the things we had both agreed on was not having children. But now my wife, bored by our marriage, thinks having kids will re-spark the intimacy and romance in our lives. I hate children.
“You know I don't have any desire to have kids. They're loud, they're needy, they're always pissed off about something. We could find better things to do with that money.”
“Oh really, Jason? Like what? Another vacation where neither of us speaks because you're so wrapped up in your little games? Another “surprise” renovation to the house to keep me happy and quiet!? You've put so much money into this house thinking it would make me happy and it hasn't. You don't make me happy anymore and you can't unless you give me kids!” She's red in the face and I can see that the anger she's built up has been for sometime. We have intimacy in our lives, we have sex. Although it's not emotionally filling. She does it to try and get pregnant, and everytime I pull out and make her mad. She turns away from me and refuses and skin contact. I feel even lonelier and unsatisfied in those moments. She speaks up again, breaking the tense silence.
“If you don't want kids, I'll find someone that does. You've become a stranger. I don't recognize you anymore. We have all this money and what's the point if we aren't starting a family? I'll give you some time to think it over, if not, I'm filing for divorce.”
I don't respond to her and instead, I cram the rest of the toast in mouth and collect my plate and gently sit it in the sink and wash it. I make my way to the living room and put on my winter boots and coat. I return to the kitchen and look at wife. If anyone has become a stranger, it was her. We used to laugh and she used to be so loving and perfect, fulfilling every one of my needs- making me feel like I was a king. And she was the ruler of my galaxy. I worshiped her. She was there for me before I had a successful job, and we had a modest, small life. We had fun, and when we married, I really believed I had found my perfect match. Fast forward 12 years and my now 32 year old wife’s maternal clock had started to tick away. At first, everything was manageable. I said no, and she listened. Now I hear about it every day. I feel like I'm being trapped into a corner, and my “best friend" won't take my feelings into consideration. Fatherhood is a big step. And now, I'll either be forced to be one, or end my marriage and start my life over at 33. I am terrified.
I approach the door and am greeted with an icy chill slap to the face when I open it. I close the door, and approach my car, keys in my hand. I unlock the door and get into my car, while I am sanctioned from the harsh wind outside, I still feel chilled to the bone. I put the key into the ignition, the engine turns over and stalls. I try again-- nothing. I sit for a second and try one more time, the engine sputters and roars to life. I pull out of the driveway and see my wife watching me from the window. I give her a half-hearted wave and make my way down the road. It's 7:45 now, I'm expected to be at work by 9. I will make it in plenty of time, so long as the roads do not get any worse. Along the drive, I think back to happier times. I can picture my naked wife, her hair a mess and wearing that gorgeous smile. I look at her flawless body and am left admiring it and wanting to kiss every inch of it. And her sweet moans and the things she would say to me, it would have me trembling to my core. In those moments, nothing else mattered. Just her. She would hold me to her naked chest and wasn't bothered by my sweat dripping onto her. She always smells so sweet, like summer and almond. She'd run her fingers through my hair and I'd turn into a weak man that would do anything she asked. And now? We still have sex, but it has lost its luster and romance. If she didn't want to get pregnant, she wouldn't even touch me. A few times, she's tried to hold me in her and I've had to shove her off, rather forcefully. And she calls me a monster and runs out of the room… god, I hate the sound of her wailing. She does not cry quietly and screeches so the neighbors can hear and make assumptions on what kind of husband I must be. Suddenly I am back to the road, before I even have time to react, my car is spiraling out of control from black ice. I hear a loud crash and am greeted with darkness.
“...sir? Sir!? I need you to open your eyes!” The first feeling I am met with is searing pain in my head. There's warmth and white-hot agony coursing through my body. I do not open my eyes, but I do attempt to speak. Nothing comes out.
“Get him in the truck-- let's go. Ready? 1,2,3!” I am lifted from the ground, and the pain rips through my entire being. I scream so loudly, but all that comes out is a groan.
“Sir? You're on your way to Peninsula Memorial hospital. You were in a very bad accident.” His words begin to run together.
“Youw goin ta be all wight, sir. Wew’ll get you dere in no time.” My senses begin to fade, the searing pain numbs to where I'm almost comfortable. Again, I slip into my darkness.

     The first thing I hear is the slow steady beeping of an EKG machine. My eyes flutter open and the brightness blinds me. I flinch from the pounding in my head. When my eyes adjust, I find myself in a clean hospital room. My leg is in a cast to above the knee, I've got stitches in my arm. I don't even want to look at my face. The sheets are warm and comfortable, which makes up for the discomfort of my bed. Despite my headache, I am pleasantly surprised that I am not in greater pain. A team of doctors are outside my door, quietly talking amongst themselves- looking troubled. One doctor looks over to me, to find that I'm awake. He holds up his have to the other doctors and silences them. He walks into my room and greets me with a warm smile.
“Mr. Wrightly, I'm Dr. Morrison. Do you know why you are here?” I think back to the wreck. I remember slamming into a guardrail and flipping and then nothing.
“I was in a car crash.”
“Yes, good. You remember. You suffered from massive blood loss, a broken tibia and femur. You also had to undergo an emergency surgery for a partial brain transplant. If we had not taken action, you would have died.” I sit and stare blankly, trying to comprehend everything. I look at the doctor, a million questions invading my mind.
“What part of my brain was damaged?”
“Your medial temporal lobe and parietal lobe. But, your overall condition is stable. You are not in any danger.”
I sit silently. And think about the opportunity I had just missed at work.
“Is there anyone you'd like us to inform that you're here?”
“My wife, please. She's probably worried sick. How long have I been out?”
“The surgery took 7 hours, you've been in recovery for 9 hours. So about 16 hours altogether.”
“Jesus.” I sigh, my head burying deeper into the pillow.
“My wife can be reached at 234-555-3468.” The doctors ask if I need anything else at the moment, assure me they'll call my wife and be back in. When I'm alone again it must be around noon on tuesday, I realize. I pass the time watching some mindless show on TV. The doctor returns.
“We were able to get ahold of your wife. She's on her way up here. We want you to try and eat. You can order anything you like off this menu. We want to do a simple test with you afterwards and if everything looks good, we'll get together your discharge papers and you can be out of here.”
“Sounds good, doc.”
“Just dial that number on your menu when you're ready to order, that's the direct line to the kitchen.” I nod, studying the menu. The doctor leaves me alone. Nothing looks particularly good on the menu. I slowly dial the number. A few rings and then an answer.
“Hello.”
“Hello, I'd uh, I'd like to order some food?”
“What'll you have?”
“I'll take the ham and cheese sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise. A side of mac and cheese, your vegetable of the day and some applesauce.”
“....okay and anything to drink?”
“Oh, just some coffee please. Cream and sugar on the side.”
“Okay. I'll have someone send that up to your room. It'll be about a half hour.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I hang the phone up. Awhile after mindless TV and various check ups from the nurses, my wife comes barging through my door, looking frazzled.
“What happened? What were you doing that you wrecked the car. We finally just got it paid off Jason! This is gonna ruin our insurance.” My wife begins a storm of rambling and panicking. My headache grows stronger. I hold up a finger to silence her. She stares, expectantly.
“I was paying attention to the road. There was black ice, I spiraled out on the bridge.” My wife sighs and examines my injuries. She touches my stitches lightly. It slightly stings and I jerk it away, harder than intended. Her eyes wander to my head and widen.
“Oh,” she gasps.
“That bad, huh?”
“Is it painful?”
“No. I just have a really bad headache.” There's a knock on my door and a man pulling a cart full of meals pulls out the table next to me and adjusts it to wear it lays over my body. He lays my food down in front of me.