SINFUL TEMPTATION

Strawberry

Weeks had passed since her miscarriage, yet Ava felt as though she was drowning in an endless ocean of sorrow. Her days were heavy, her nights darker still, filled with thoughts of what could have been. Andrew had been her anchor, always by her side, offering solace and strength when she felt weakest. His presence had become a part of her routine, and though she hadn't acknowledged it aloud, something unspoken had begun to blossom between them.

But today was different.

As she went about her day, she came across one of Andrew's files, left behind after he had consoled her the night before. A small envelope inside caught her eye, her name boldly written on the front. Curiosity turned to dread as she opened it, and her world crumbled all over again.

The words stared back at her in stark, unforgiving black: Ava Smith has lost 99% of her ability to conceive due to complications from the miscarriage.

Her hands trembled. The paper fell from her grasp as she collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The fragile hope she had been clinging to—the dream of starting over, of finding happiness again—was shattered. She felt hollow, helpless, utterly lost.

The door creaked open. Andrew entered, his expression soft and reassuring until his eyes fell on the report in her hands. Panic flashed across his face.

"Ava..." he began, stepping toward her, but before he could say more, her palm struck his cheek in a resounding slap.

The slap stunned them both. He didn't retaliate, didn't even flinch. Instead, he dropped to his knees before her, his eyes reflecting the pain he saw in hers.

Ava's sobs softened into trembling whispers. "Why didn't you tell me? You let me believe... you let me hope..."

"I didn't want to hurt you," he said softly, taking her hands despite her resistance. "I thought—I thought I was protecting you."

For a long moment, she stared at him, her tear-streaked face a mix of anguish and anger. But then, unexpectedly, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. Andrew froze for a heartbeat before returning the embrace, holding her as if she might break.

"It's okay," she murmured through her tears. "Cry, Andrew. Cry as much as you need. I'm here for you, just like you've been here for me."

Her words cracked something open in him. His shoulders shook as he let go of the pain he had been holding back for her sake. In the midst of their shared sorrow, their lips met—a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of comfort and promises unspoken.

When they finally pulled apart, Ava looked into his eyes, her voice trembling but filled with gratitude. "Thank you for staying with me. For always being here."

Andrew cupped her face, his gaze steady and full of determination. "I'll make you a mother, Aurora."

She blinked, startled. "Aurora?"

"Yes," he said with a small smile. "You're the light in my life, Ava. You're my dawn, even when everything feels like it's ending."

Her heart swelled, though her mind remained skeptical. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

His smirk returned, a playful glint in his eye. "Maybe Italian sperm?"

Her laughter broke through the tears, a sound that felt almost foreign after so much sadness. For the first time in weeks, hope didn't feel so distant.

Ava's laughter faded into a soft smile, her cheeks wet with tears but glowing with a hint of warmth. Andrew reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For making me laugh when I thought I never could again."

Andrew's smile softened. "You deserve so much more than laughter, Ava. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving that to you."

His words sent a shiver through her, one of hope and fear intertwined. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to hold onto this fragile sense of peace.

But as reality set in, doubt began to creep back in. She pulled away slightly, hugging her knees to her chest. "Andrew... what if this is it? What if I'll never get to hold a child in my arms? What if I fail you?"

Andrew's brow furrowed, and he knelt beside her, taking her hand firmly in his. "Ava, listen to me. You could never fail me. A child or no child, you are enough. Do you hear me? You are enough."

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time they weren't born of despair. "How do you always know the right thing to say?"

"I don't," he admitted with a small laugh. "I'm just saying what I feel. What I know is true."

For a moment, silence enveloped them, the kind that felt more like a blanket than a void. Andrew tilted his head toward the window, where the late afternoon sunlight streamed in, painting the room in gold.

"Let's go somewhere," he said suddenly, his voice filled with quiet determination.

Ava blinked. "What? Where?"

"Anywhere. Somewhere that doesn't remind you of... of all this." He gestured vaguely to the room, to the remnants of their shared grief. "Somewhere you can breathe again. Start fresh."

Ava hesitated. The idea of leaving felt both tempting and terrifying. "Andrew, I don't know if running away is the answer."

"It's not running away," he said gently. "It's choosing you. Choosing us. It's saying we deserve a chance to heal."

She looked at him, his eyes earnest, his hand still holding hers as if he'd never let go. And for the first time in weeks, she felt a glimmer of something she thought she'd lost forever: hope.

"Okay," she said softly. "Let's go."

---

That evening, Ava and Andrew packed what little they needed, leaving the rest behind. He drove them out of the city, past the highways and suburbs, into the countryside where the world seemed to stretch wide and free.

They arrived at a small, secluded cabin Andrew had rented—a place surrounded by trees and blanketed in stars. As they stepped out of the car, Ava felt the cool evening breeze on her skin, carrying with it a sense of promise.

Inside, the cabin was simple but cozy, with a crackling fireplace and a view of the moonlit forest. Andrew set down their bags and turned to her, his smile tentative but hopeful. "What do you think?"

"It's perfect," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

As the night deepened, they sat together by the fire, talking about everything and nothing. Ava found herself leaning against him, the sound of his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

"Andrew," she said after a long silence.

"Yeah?"

"I think... I think I'm ready to let go of the past. To start again."

His arms tightened around her. "Then we'll do it together."

And as the firelight danced in their eyes, they both knew that this was the beginning of something new—not without challenges, but filled with the strength of a love that had grown through the hardest of times.