/lit/ - Literature

>>22122544
Two monitors sat on a dusty wood table that he bought while stationed in Japan. A bookshelf stands behind him, holding his collection of Berserk manga and Dune. Scattered around the monitors was a miscellaneous mess of items-- to include dry erase markers, opened bubble water, and a trial box of male fertility pills.

The markers were paired with a nearby 3x2 white board on the wall. Bought back when he swapped into his new job, when he played at the idea of organization. The marks that sit on it now are at least two months old.

The bubble water is a must. It is a sign that he is healthy. Healthier. That he's trying. At least, more than he used to. The carbonation still irritates his acid reflux, but it's better than what it was before.

The fertility pills. The fucking fertility pills. Three miscarriages in 2022 and they went through all the tests trying to figure out the cause. It wasn't him. His sperm runs at the speed of someone ten years his junior, working through sophomore year in highschool. His wife? Not her fault either. It's frustrating when you don't have a cause.

His wife's desk sits catty-cornered to his own. There's a laptop, a small TV screen, and some cute decorations. She sits there far less than he sits at his, but when she does, her dog sleeps under the desk in a small bed kept just for it.

The office isn't much, but it's cozy. It's happier than it used to be. He's been divorced once. So has she. They're happier now, with the practice round out of the way. Even with the miscarriages. They'll try again soon. And in the future, they'll be happier.