“Hi, Lavidia, have a seat.”

The doctor had finished reading the reports of the tests they did on Batro, and all the tests done on her, and was now entering her conclusions into the computer. The girl sat down and began to visibly tremble. Her right leg started moving nervously from side to side, and she lightly bit her lower lip.

Laba, her mother, had been saying for a while that they both should get tested thoroughly at the clinic.

But she resisted. Perhaps out of fear they would tell her what she didn’t want to hear, or maybe due to the hope that she would conceive a daughter soon...

But time passed, and daughters didn’t come. In addition to her sister, her friend Bashia already had three, and all of them were girls.

Finally, she decided to get tests for Batro and herself. The moment of truth had come, and she couldn’t wait any longer, as her health and mental well-being were beginning to suffer from what was becoming a trauma. If there was a fix for her situation, it had to be done as soon as possible.

The doctor, a woman in her forties with a pleated skirt, long hair, and a smiling face, began to speak:

“Women and men have a similar development until the age of two or three, at which point boys interrupt their psychological development, although physically they continue developing similarly to girls until puberty. In their case, puberty occurs around eleven or twelve, when they stop growing and reach the peak of their physical maturity. For girls, we have another two years until we become women, and...,” the doctor stopped upon seeing her patient’s serious and angry expression and added, “I mean, in general terms. I suppose you know these ages vary from person to person, and...”

“I already know all that, Doctor,” she interrupted. “What I want to know, what I need to know,” she emphasised, “is whether I can or cannot have daughters with my husband.”

“Your husband is perfectly fine,” she replied. “He has good sperm density in his semen, and they exhibit good mobility. There’s no congenital defect in the germ cells that would hinder conception.”

Lavidia continued with a serious expression and stared at her interlocutor:

“So, the problem is with me.”

“As I was saying, when girls reach puberty, eggs are released in their menstrual cycle. These originate from the maturation of follicles in the ovaries, and in your case...”

Lavidia held her breath.

“And in your case... they haven’t matured.”

“Haven’t matured?”

“It’s common to find this kind of issue in girls who haven’t reached reproductive maturity. They remain at the age when their male counterparts do, not making the leap to womanhood. But that’s not your case. Your development is complete, except for that small detail.”

“Small detail...”

“Well, for lack of a better term.”

“But isn’t that Jaspala syndrome?”

The doctor made a knowing gesture and said:

“I see you’ve studied the subject, Lavidia.”

“I’ve been studying it for a long time, Doctor,” she responded, with a serious expression.

“Indeed. Coridia Jaspala defined that syndrome at the end of the last century, and it has been named after her since then. The poor woman had that problem and tried to solve it. Unfortunately for her, the solution came too late.”

“I know. The solution is hormonal therapy. When can I start receiving it?” Lavidia didn’t want to waste time.

“Well, immature follicles can be due to inadequate levels of luteinising hormone or follicle-stimulating hormone. In those cases, clomiphene citrate or gonadotropins, which are hormonal injections, can be administered. Unfortunately, that’s not your case.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Not my case?”

“I’m afraid not. Your hormone levels are adequate.”

“Okay,” the girl sighed. “So, in my case, how can I fix it?”

“I’m afraid there’s no way to do it, Lavidia. You don’t have eggs, and you can’t get them from where there aren’t any.”

The girl was left speechless.

“You could go to another specialist,” she continued, “but this is not a matter of interpreting a doubtful result. In your case, infertility is more than evident.”

That was the worst of the worst they could tell her. The word “infertility” was the one she hated the most, the most feared in that society. At that moment, she felt lightheaded, and an intense darkness clouded her mind. For a moment, she thought she was going to faint, but she composed herself, starting to cry in a completely inconsolable way.

“Oh, come on, woman... the world doesn’t end just because you can’t have daughters.”

“Woman?” she wiped her tears with the hem of her skirt. “What defines a woman is precisely motherhood. Otherwise, what distinguishes us from men?”

“Well, you can’t compare a woman to a man...”

“Why not?” she got irritated. “Because we are smarter? Because we are stronger? Doctor, all that is a matter of quantity. However, motherhood is not a matter of quantity. It’s a matter of quality. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, Lavidia, but...”

“Are you a mother, Doctor?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“How many daughters do you have?”

“Two.”

“Only two? Why?”

“Because I couldn’t have more.”

“I bet you became a gynecologist precisely because it was hard for you to get pregnant. Am I right?”

The woman didn’t answer, and Lavidia stood up.

“Goodbye, thank you very much.”

“Wait, Lavidia. I was going to suggest some alternatives. There are other ways to be a mother. You could...”

But she didn’t answer or turn around to hear what she was going to say. She already knew what those ways were, and she didn’t want to go through them. They were all a lie, a consolation prize that didn’t alleviate or console anything, and only served to deceive oneself.

Then she went out into the street and continued crying intensely while wandering through the neighbourhood.

She passed by the round neighbourhood, so-called because its buildings were round, painted in bright colours that surprised visitors even at that hour, close to sunset.

Then she crossed the ‘gynecoid square,’ a place where mothers took their daughters to spend warm summer afternoons. The area was full of fountains and small ponds adorned with statues and representations of mothers breastfeeding their daughters or being pregnant. Each pond had its own motif, and she remembered being there many times, observing the realism of those figures, and wishing to do what they did someday. She had often played with Bashia imitating those poses: she would put on a cushion held with a wide skirt to simulate pregnancy, and her friend would bring a doll close to her chest.

But all of that was the past, and what was worse, the future had denied it to her. She stopped briefly to look at it for the last time, and after experiencing a profound sense of bitterness, she determined never to pass by that place again.

Finally, she reached the worm district, so-called not only because there was a protein farm but also because the houses were built in small, rounded formations resembling the segments of a worm as families grew.

She wandered through the neighbourhoods beyond her home, watching buses arrive and drop off men at their respective homes. She walked and walked until she was exhausted and had no more tears to cry, finally arriving home.

Her mother greeted her, but she didn’t want to hear any of the words directed at her. She only approached her father, who was watching television with her brothers in a room. Father and daughter embraced, he caressed her head... and she would have stayed with him crying all night if it weren’t for the fact that the old man was sick and needed rest.

Eventually, she went to her room and got into bed, trying not to wake Batro, who was sleeping in the adjacent bed. She attempted to curl up without making too much noise to avoid disturbing his sleep, but she failed. They had given her the biggest heartache of her life, and her sobs were clearly heard by her husband, who woke up, approached her side, and caressed her cheek while giving her some kisses.

The two embraced, and Lavidia continued to cry inconsolably, wondering where she could find so many tears. The young man watched this unusual scene with his wife, trying to figure out how to console her. He got into bed with her, attempting to make love.

“Not now, Batro. I’m not in the mood. Please go and do it on your own.”

The boy obeyed and went to his bed, surprised, wondering what had happened for his usually willing wife to say no this time.