Infinite Ties

Fatima

I stand in the restroom attached to my office, the familiar, sterile scent of disinfectant mingling with the quiet hum of the overhead light. I reach for the flush handle, staring into the bowl with a mix of frustration and resignation. The water swirls away, taking with it the small hope I didn’t even realize I was holding onto.

This whole day, I’ve been in a mood—snapping at everyone, especially Zac. When he dropped me off at work this morning, I barely said a word to him, just a curt nod and a mumbled thanks before slamming the car door shut. I saw the hurt flash in his eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to care at that moment. I was too caught up in my own storm.

But now, as I stand here, everything clicks into place. The mood swings, the irritation that seemed to bubble up from nowhere... and now this.

My period.

I hadn’t even let myself think about it, hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on the possibility that I might be pregnant. But the lateness, the small signs—it all made me hope, just a little. A tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, Zac and I were about to step into something new, something we weren’t even sure we were ready for but would have embraced anyway.

I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye, furious at myself for being so emotional, so irrational. But the truth is, I’m disappointed. I’m angry, and I’m not sure who I’m angrier at—myself for getting my hopes up or the universe for dashing them so swiftly.

“Motherfucking hell,” I mutter to myself.

As I step out of the restroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection stares back, and I barely recognize the woman there—hardened eyes, tight jaw, a frown that seems permanent. Where is the strong, unshakeable Fatima that everyone knows? The one who keeps it together no matter what?

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders and forcing the mask back into place. There’s work to do, deals to close, people to command. There’s no room for weakness, no space for personal disappointments. I push the emotions down, burying them under layers of resolve.

But even as I stride back into my office, ready to tackle whatever the day throws at me, the bitterness lingers, a shadow that refuses to be shaken. And beneath it all, a small, stubborn part of me whispers that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as okay as I’m pretending to be.

Nothing makes my day turn hellish than when it's the first day of my period, especially when they surprise me when I'm at work. The bane of every woman's existence. And I also happen to have the worst case of cramps so it wasn't something I look forward to. But either way, I have every right to complain.

Tears sting the corners of my eyes as another painful cramp hits my stomach and I take a deep breath. I put a call to Steve to come get me since Zac was at work and I didn't want to bother him. Not with the way I acted this morning.

After what seems like an eternity, Steve calls that he is at the firm. My staff are already staring at me  weirdly as I hobble my way to the elevator.

I need my bed, comfort food aka burgers, and sleep. Stat.

“Fatima, I need your favor….”

“Text me,” I cut off Andi who joins me in the elevator and I wince when my voice comes out rude. “I'm sorry. I'm not feeling good.”

“No problem. I will just send you an email then. Take care of yourself.” She stops at her floor and I continue my journey to the parking lot. The first day of my cycle is always straight out of a nightmare for me and by the end of the day, I look like someone hit me with a truck and dragged my body through the dirt.

As soon as I enter the car, tears come streaming down my eyes, I couldn't care less for Steve staring from the rearview mirror. The pain from the period hurts like a motherfucker but also from the pain my heart felt. This and every other month is a reminder of what I might never get to be. The look on Zac's face yesterday when I told him I was late kept popping up in my mind.