A Second Opinion

Viola paces the dim-lit bedroom, her eyes locked on Hugo sprawled on the bed, beer in hand. They've been at this for months—raw, desperate fucks that lead nowhere. Tests say she's fine, her body primed and waiting. But Hugo? He waves it off, stubborn as a mule. 'I'm not some lab rat,' he growls. She bites back frustration. 'Fine, artificial insemination then. Let the docs handle it.' His face twists in revulsion. 'You want some stranger's syringe pumping you full? That's not us, Viola. That's cold, mechanical bullshit.' Words fly like daggers. She accuses him of pride blinding him to their empty nursery. He fires back, calling her desperate, unnatural. The air thickens with betrayal. Viola grabs her keys, slams the door behind her, tires screeching into the night. Daniel's office looms in the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, a far cry from the shadows they once tangled in. Her ex, now Dr. Smooth with his white coat and knowing smirk. She slides into the exam room chair, heart pounding. 'Tell me about artificial insemination, Daniel. Straight talk.' He leans in, voice low and clinical. Explains the harvest—sperm collected, washed, spun into concentration. Then the intrusion: catheter snaking through her cervix, injecting life straight into her womb. Costs stack up like bad debts: consultations, ultrasounds, the procedure itself. Invasive. Pricey. More hassle than she bargained for. But as he talks, a spark ignites in her gut. Old-fashioned way. No tubes, no bills. Just skin on skin, heat rising. She eyes the curve of his jaw, the hands that once mapped her body. Seduce him. Let him fill her, raw and real, under the hum of medical fluorescents. The forbidden pulse quickens—risky, electric, a betrayal wrapped in longing.