Freedom of Choice
Summary: A father reflects on his anger when his wife picks the physical characteristics and sex of their baby without considering his opinions.
She looked down at the parchment paper, her frown one of disappointment. "I don't understand, Tim," she said in a whisper. "She was doing so well for a while there."
"She's a teenager," he replied, not even glancing up at his wife from the book he was reading. "These things happen."
Glaring at him, her eyes flashed with anger. "It's like you don't even care that our daughter is failing out of high school."
"Oh, I care," he assured her, his eyes not straying from the page. "I'm simply choosing not to get involved."
She seethed at him, flashing the report card in his face. "You're going to sit there and pretend that this doesn't exist?"
"Why shouldn't I? I know you'll take care of it however you choose. You always do, Meg," he answered, his voice devoid of emotion.
Per usual, that only incensed her anger. "Don't be such a baby! This is about our daughter. Don't turn it into a fight about us. For once in our marriage, just don't."
"Why is it," Tim began, finally closing his book and looking her in the eye. "That when she's done something wrong, she's our daughter."
Wrinkling her brow, Meg asked, "What do you mean? She's always our daughter."
He leaned forward in the easy chair, a stern expression on his face. "Not always. When she starred in that play, she was your daughter. When she got caught skipping school, she's our daughter. When she got on the cheerleading squad, she was your daughter. Now, when her grades are below par, she's our daughter."
"You're reading too much into it," Meg huffed. "Parents do that all the time. Of course she's always our daughter."
Raising an eyebrow, Tim replied, "Is she? Has she ever been?"
"What are you talking about?" Meg hissed, her fury rising again.
Letting out a deep breath, Tim answered, "I had a conversation with the doctor who handled the in vitro."
Silence. Gulping, Meg began fiddling with a strand of her hair. "Really? W-why would you…"
"Well, Ashley's birthday was only a month ago," Time interrupted. "I remembered how the doctor said that always loved to hear from the families he helped create, and I started feeling bad that haven't called him once. So, we got to talking, and he asked me something I thought was very interesting."
Meg crossed her arms, her gaze falling on the coffee table at her knee. "What was that?"
"He asked me if Ashley was everything you hoped she'd be…when we designed her," Tim said, putting emphasis on the last part.
Standing up from the couch, Meg snapped, "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Now, excuse me."
"Meg, I know," Tim called before she could walk away. "I know."
She froze in her spot but didn't say anything.
"Why'd you do it?" he asked, not daring to so much as glance in her direction.
Without turning around, she paused. He could tell she was considering going into one of her rants. Instead she answered in a calm tone, "I was young, Tim. I had my heart set on a beautiful baby girl. And once I started, I couldn't stop. Before I realized what I was doing we were set to have a gorgeous daughter with wavy brown hair and piercing blue eyes.
"The doctor didn't make it hard. The process of genetic design was new back then, with very little laws set for it. All I had to do was forge your signature. Tim…I'm so sorry."
Before he could muster up the courage to spew the hateful words stirring inside, she'd run into the kitchen.
He didn't move for a long time after that. He sat there staring into the hearth of their fireplace opposite him, blackened from when they'd used it just the night before.
In some small way he was relieved. When Ashley grew up to develop none of his physical features, he'd seriously doubted her parentage. There were times he had considered asking Meg to agree to a paternity test, but stopped himself when he imagined the headache of a fight it would cause.
Of course he knew this wouldn't change a thing. At first it ate him up, daring him to confront Meg about it. But after a while he came to a conclusion. All getting angry or upset would do is cause an unnecessary fight that could rip their otherwise loving marriage apart. As the saying went, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, especially when the dog was over sixteen years old.
But at the same time…he couldn't take it. He'd always thought of Ashley as 'Daddy's little girl.' Now she was Daddy's little girl…as designed by Mommy. It would be a long while before he'd ever be able to tell anyone that Ashley was 'his' daughter.
Well, he had to look at the silver lining. He never had to worry about Meg yelling at him for screwing up as long as he lived. He had some serious leverage.
And there were other ways he'd get his dignity back. He could already tell that Ashley had inherited his less than stellar GPA, and she confided in him once that she only tried out for the cheer squad because she knew it would make her mother happy.
"Dad?"
He turned around to find Ashley standing at the base of the foyer steps. His gaze settled on her hair. Right around her birthday she went through a bit of a rebel phase, dying almost all of her hair a solid platinum blonde and straightening it. Initially he'd hated the new style, demanding she change it back…but now he could see himself getting used to the look.
"Yes sweetheart?" he answered, tucking his book under his arm as he went into the foyer.
Smiling at him, Ashley indicated her nearly formal outfit. "I have a date tonight with Danny. You said I could go, but…it's Friday. Can't I stay out for a little longer? Just until eleven. Please?"
She was giving him that face. The look of total adoration she reserved for when she wanted something. Pretending to think for a long moment, Tim laughed. "Of course. Have a good time."
"Thanks Daddy!" she squealed, kissing him on the cheek. She stopped to examine herself in the foyer half-mirror before getting her coat. "I look okay, right?"
He didn't even glance back as he headed towards the kitchen. "You're perfect."