Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 90: An Absurd Request

Chapter 90: An Absurd Request

Jerica sighed, her hand pausing in his hair. "The coffee smelled nice," she admitted, her tone light but forced. "But it didn’t taste nearly as good."

Jared lifted his head slightly, giving her a sharp look. "Coffee isn’t breakfast, Jerica," he said, his tone carrying a mixture of exasperation and worry.

Jerica offered a small, sheepish smile before sinking into the chair beside his bed. She avoided his gaze, her hands resting idly in her lap.

Jared studied her closely, his brows knitting together. "What is it?" he asked, his voice softening. He reached out to touch her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. "You look so..." He hesitated, his words trailing off as if searching for something less harsh than what he wanted to say.

Jerica bit her lip and looked down. "I’m fine," she said at first, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if gathering courage, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she clutched the armrest of her chair tightly.

"Jared," she said, her voice steadier now. Her eyes met his, and for a brief second, she wavered. But she forced herself to push forward. "Will you give me your sperm?"

The words tumbled out in one breath, fast and heavy, like she was ripping off a bandage.

Jared froze. His hand, which had been lightly grazing her cheek, dropped to his lap. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his face blank as though he hadn’t fully processed her words.

"You... what?" he finally managed, his voice barely audible. His pale complexion turned even whiter, and his eyes widened slightly in disbelief. "My sperm?"

Jerica held her ground, her gaze unwavering despite the heat creeping into her cheeks. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, but she kept her voice firm. "I want to have a baby, Jared. Our baby."

The silence between them deepened, suffocating, as Jared stared at Jerica, his mouth slightly ajar, struggling to form a coherent response. His chest rose and fell heavily, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t yet untangle. Disbelief flickered across his pale face, soon replaced by a spark of anger.

"You... want my sperm?" he asked again, this time slower, his voice tinged with something raw—confusion, frustration, perhaps even hurt.

Jerica swallowed hard, willing her voice to stay steady despite the trembling in her hands. "I’m going to get IVF," she said, meeting his gaze with quiet determination. "For that, I need your sperm."

Her words lingered in the air like a challenge, daring him to accept or reject them. Deep down, she knew how unconventional her request was. It wasn’t typical for a wife to ask her husband for sperm like this—detached, clinical, as if it were merely a transaction. They hadn’t even tried for a natural pregnancy. By all accounts, they were both healthy and capable. Yet, her case was anything but typical.

Jared’s brows drew together, anger sparking in his eyes. "You think my problem is putting a baby in you?" His voice was low, controlled, but the edge in it was sharp enough to cut.

Jerica flinched but didn’t look away. This was it—the conversation they’d both avoided for months, the elephant in the room finally demanding attention.

It wasn’t about the act of pregnancy; it was about his refusal, his hesitation. Jared had always avoided the topic of children, deflecting or shutting it down before it could gain traction. But she wanted it—desperately.

His fists clenched against the sheets, his voice rising slightly as he continued. "You think I’m avoiding it because I can’t?"

"Then why?" Jerica snapped, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension. She caught herself, glancing at the door, and lowered her tone. "Why, Jared? I know it’s a big decision for a man to choose the mother of his children. But am I not good enough? Is that it? Why do you think I’m unsuitable to carry your child?"

Her words hit Jared like a slap, leaving him stunned. His jaw dropped, and his voice wavered with disbelief. "Unsuitable?" he echoed, hoarse and unsteady. "How could you even think—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, the gesture rough with frustration.

How could she believe that about him? That he—the man who adored her, who knew her better than anyone—thought she was unsuitable? The idea was absurd, insulting even, and it hurt.

Jared’s thoughts spiraled. Unsuitable? She would be the best mother in the world—of that, he was sure. There wasn’t a single woman he could imagine who was more fit, more capable, or more loving than Jerica. If he ever wanted children, there would be no one but her. No one else even came close.

He glanced at her, and his chest ached. How could she not see herself the way he did? Where did this doubt come from?

The truth, the unspoken weight of his hesitation, sat heavy on his shoulders. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. If anything, he wasn’t sure he was suitable. Jerica deserved better—a better partner, a better father for her children, someone who wasn’t bogged down by his fears and insecurities.

She was perfect in every way, but him? He was flawed. He was the one who didn’t measure up. She should be the one rethinking her choice of a mate, he thought bitterly. She deserved more than what he could give.

The silence between them stretched taut, thick with unspoken words and unrelenting emotions. Each passing second felt heavier than the last, like the weight of a thousand unacknowledged truths pressing down on them both. Jerica’s heart thudded in her chest, each beat echoing her growing fears. She waited, desperate for Jared to say something,

to give her anything that resembled an answer. But his lips parted only to close again, the words he wanted to say lost to the chaos inside him.

Unable to bear the quiet any longer, Jerica finally broke it, her voice trembling but resolute. "I won’t ask for anything else," she said, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "You don’t even have to support me in any way. I’ll do everything myself. Just... let me carry your child, Jared. Please..."

Her words struck Jared like a blow to the chest, not because of what she was asking, but because of the way she was asking. It was as though she believed he saw her as unworthy, incapable, or—even worse—undeserving of his love or his future. His eyebrows twitched in anger, and he felt his blood pressure spike.

The nerve.

What did she think of him? Did she honestly believe he wouldn’t want to be involved in raising their child, if they ever had one? Did she think so little of him as a partner, a husband? Or was it something worse—did she think he didn’t want her? And what was this nonsense about not needing his "support"? Her words gnawed at his pride, his fears, his frustration, fueling a flame that he struggled to tamp down.

Jared’s jaw tightened, and his fists clenched against the white hospital sheets. He opened his mouth, ready to snap back with all the sharp, defensive words he’d been holding back. Words that would cut through her misunderstanding but might leave her wounded in the process.

But before he could speak, a sharp click cut through the tension, the sound of the door opening.

The doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand, oblivious to the storm he’d interrupted. "Good morning, Mr. Petrovski. How are we feeling today?"

Both of them turned, startled, as Jared’s doctor entered the room, clipboard in hand. The interruption was jarring, but Jerica felt a flicker of relief—anything to diffuse the unbearable moment.

The intrusion shattered the moment, but Jared’s emotions lingered, simmering beneath the surface. Jerica stiffened, her gaze darting toward the doctor before she stepped aside, allowing him room to check Jared’s vitals.

Jared’s eyes followed her, his frustration still burning but tinged now with something softer, something closer to guilt. Whatever words he had planned to say were lost again, replaced by an ache that was harder to confront than his anger.

"I want to be discharged," he said abruptly, his tone firm and final.

The doctor froze, blinking in surprise. "Discharged? Mr. Petrovski, you’re still recovering. Your vitals—"

"I feel fine," Jared interjected sharply. "I’ll sign whatever forms you need. I want to leave."

Jerica stared at him, her jaw slack with disbelief. "Jared," she began, her voice trembling, "what are you doing? You’re not ready to leave yet."

Jared didn’t look at her, his focus trained solely on the doctor. "Can you make it happen or not?" he asked, his voice clipped.

The doctor hesitated, glancing uneasily at Jerica before nodding slowly. "I’ll check with the team, but I must advise against this—"

"Just do it," Jared snapped, cutting him off.

The doctor gave a tight nod and stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Jerica turned to Jared, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. "Why are you doing this? Running away won’t solve anything."