Page 22 of Blossoms of the Heart
Chapter 6
Phoebe
* * *
Japan present day…
I walked up to the full-length mirror and looked at myself.
I wore my black Victoria’s Secret bra and low-cut panties. Lace.
They were my favorite pair because they complemented my tattoos. Black went with anything but I thought they looked particularly well with a dash of color on the skin.
I didn’t have many, just a few with meaning.
The turquoise blue hummingbird on my left hip stood for my adventurous spirit, free and openminded to embrace the next adventure.
The little blue butterfly on my right hip, however, meant something more and was perhaps the most significant of all for me.
It was tattooed over the scar of the wound that changed my life forever.
That accident nearly killed me.
The driver who had been drinking, and high on drugs while he was driving died on impact.
And I…
I was left with severe internal organ damage, which included my womb. Of which I received a partial hysterectomy, losing the ability to have children.
That accident left me in a coma for three weeks and that was where my treatment began. Out of action for three weeks with extensive physiotherapy for the next eight months that followed coupled with various surgeries.
Suffice it to say that when I’d came to, the first thing I did was file for divorce.
That was why Jason hated me now and did everything he could to ruin me and make my life hell.
The sting for me, though, was prior to me being well enough to make the divorce application and set the wheels in motion, Jason, being my husband with entitlement to know my medical status, knew I could no longer have children.
By the time there was talk of divorce, he flipped it around so that it seemed like it was he who was divorcing me.
After what he did to me he had the audacity to tell me he wouldn’t have wanted to be with me anyway because he wanted children of his own. Not adopted, oh no, he had to have flesh and blood children who were a part of him.
Then he called me something that I would never forget as long as I lived.
He called me damaged.
Damaged.
I remembered when the doctors first told me about the extent of my injuries and the surgeries they’d had to conduct to fix me. To fix me and save my life.
I remembered how I felt then. I was shocked, numb by the news, thankful for my life and that I hadn’t received serious injuries or visible scars to my face, but then I didn’t think I would have to worry about anyone thinking less of me.
It wasn’t until Jason said that, that it clicked that other men could think it too.
Other men, who wanted biological children of their own might not want to be with me because I’d lost a vital part of myself and it wasn’t something I could fix.
It literally was what it was.
I was twenty six years old at the time. Twenty six and getting the news that I wouldn’t be able to have children.
