Cherish Bonus Chapter: Legacy

Cherish Bonus Chapter: Legacy

Part One: The First Appointment

The busy infertility clinic smelled like sterile air and cold bureaucracy. Abike sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, her fingers interlocked, knuckles pale against her dark skin. Dana was by her side, calm but watchful, her hand resting protectively on her wife’s thigh.

The doctor had just finished outlining the list of required tests, procedures, legal paperwork, and, what made Abike's jaw truly clench, a mandatory psychological evaluation for same-sex couples.

"So any heterosexual couple," Abike said slowly, her Nigerian accent heavy and thick with emotion, "can have a baby spontaneously. They do not need a test. No blood work. No counseling. No signatures. No money. But us? We must jump through hoops like performing monkeys?"

Her voice cracked.

"We are not even infertile. We just need sperm!" Her hand rose to her chest, trembling. "It is dehumanizing that we have to ask strangers to help us have a family. Something so intimate, so sacred, reduced to forms, fees, and protocol. They treat us like cattle."

Dana turned in her seat and pulled Abike into a tight embrace. "It’ll be okay, baby. We’ll figure it out. I promise."

Tears slipped down Abike’s cheeks. Dana had never seen her cry before, not even at their wedding. Seeing her now, raw and overwhelmed, made Dana’s chest ache with helpless love.

Abike sniffled, wiping her tears. "We’ll find another infertility specialist. I don’t like the vibe here."

Dana nodded. "Then we’re done here."

That night, Dana made love to Abike as if she were sacred.

Their bodies moved in a rhythm born of deep connection: slow, reverent, and without urgency. Dana took her time, as if the very act of loving Abike could absorb all the hurt and frustration from the day. Her lips traced a path from shoulder to collarbone, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses into her wife’s skin like blessings.

She lingered there, breathing in the scent of shea butter and something uniquely Abike, earthy and wild and soft all at once. Her fingers skimmed along the silk of Abike’s inner thighs, parting them with quiet confidence. She didn’t rush. Instead, she savored. She adored. She worshipped.

Abike's breath hitched when Dana’s tongue flicked gently against the sensitive swell of her nipple, her hand teasing the other breast with a featherlight touch. “My love,” Dana whispered, her voice thick and low. “You’re everything to me.”

Her mouth traveled lower, kissing the valley between her wife’s breasts, down the soft curve of her belly, then pausing, just to look at her. Abike lay stretched out beneath her, radiant and open, her dark skin glowing in the candlelight, her eyes hooded with arousal but laced with something deeper: vulnerability.

Dana cupped Abike’s face. “Let me show you,” she murmured, “what you mean to me.”

And then she did.

She kissed Abike’s thighs like it was a prayer, her tongue slow and deliberate. Each swirl and stroke said: You are not broken. You are not less than. You are worthy. You are loved.

Abike moaned, her hips arching, her hands gripping Dana’s shoulders as her thighs trembled around Dana’s head. Dana’s hands anchored her, holding her open, holding her safe. She didn’t stop until Abike came in a rush of sound and shuddering limbs, gasping Dana’s name like it was a lifeline.

But Dana wasn’t done.

She moved back up, covering her wife’s body with her own, sliding two fingers deep inside her, slow and steady. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, brushing sweat-damp braids from Abike’s face.

Abike clung to her, tears slipping silently from the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from release. From being seen. From being held. Dana kissed them away.

She kept her strokes deep and rhythmic, kissing Abike’s throat, her cheeks, her mouth. She worked her thumb in delicate circles over her wife’s swollen clit, building her higher again. And when Abike came a second time, softer this time, a breathy cry against Dana’s lips, Dana held her through it, whispering her love into every inch of her skin.

Only then did Dana pull her close, wrapping her in the warmth of her arms, their legs tangled, their hearts racing in unison.

“You’re going to be an amazing mother,” Dana whispered into Abike’s hair, her voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to have beautiful babies. I’ll move heaven and earth for our family.”

Abike didn’t respond right away. She just exhaled and melted into Dana’s chest, her fingers brushing lazy patterns over Dana’s stomach. But the smile curving her lips spoke volumes.

And in that moment, the weight of the day fell away. All that remained was love: steady, strong, and unshakable.

Part Two: Sisterhood in Action

The next morning, Abike summoned the sisterhood.

Her stylists and clients, her trusted circle, were soon buzzing like bees in the salon. Within days, they’d tapped into their expansive network.

Two weeks later, they struck gold. A client, Dr. Hutchinson, a warm, grounded PCP, pulled Abike aside during her retwist.

"You should call Dr. Meghan Jones," she said while handing Abike a business card. "Black, brilliant, just opened a solo practice in Charlotte. She’s kind. Knows her stuff. And she’s LGBTQ-affirming."

Abike and Dana did their research. Reviewers described Dr. Jones' patient care as present, deeply knowledgeable, and personalized, with a small staff, and most importantly, respectful.

They made an appointment.

From the first handshake, Dana and Abike knew this was different.

Dr. Jones sat with them, eye to eye. She explained everything: from the types of insemination, sperm bank options, to the necessary testing.

"Have you ever heard of CMV?" she asked. They hadn’t.

"It’s a virus that can infect a pregnancy if the donor is positive and Abike is negative. We’ll test you, just in case."

Rubella? Another surprise. "It can cause congenital disabilities. If you’re not immune, we’ll vaccinate before trying."

By the end, Dana and Abike were full of questions, but also full of hope. For the first time, they felt empowered.

Later that night, as they curled on the couch reviewing donor profiles, Abike turned to Dana.

"I want our baby to look like you; tall and light-skinned."

Dana blinked. "What about someone Nigerian, like your family?"

Abike smiled. "My family just wants grandbabies. They’ve come around and accepted us. But they’re still African. Children are everything, the greatest wealth."

They laughed together.

They chose a tall, athletic donor from Trinidad: a light-skinned college professor, father of two healthy kids. Perfect.

They bought enough vials to populate a village. They wanted their children to be biological siblings; they wanted a legacy.

Part Three: Making Love & Making a Baby

Dr. Jones gave them the option of at-home vaginal insemination. Dana didn’t hesitate to accept.

She picked up the thawed vial and tucked the semen filled tube between her breasts to keep it warm. She texted: Got it, babe, on my way home.

Traffic was brutal. Dana cursed every red light.

Two hours. That’s the window. She wasn’t going to miss it.

When she walked into the house, candles lit the hallway, and the air smelled of spices and herbs, one of the stylist’s special “make-a-baby” candle blends.

In the bedroom, Abike sat on the edge of the bed in a lace negligee Dana had never seen before.

"Babe," Dana whispered, stopping in her tracks.

Abike looked up, her gaze soft but determined. "Strip."

Dana laughed low in her throat. "Yes, ma’am."

Abike took her time. Worshipped Dana first; fingers, tongue, hands, until Dana was breathless and boneless beneath her.

Then Abike curled up beside her and whispered, "Are you ready to be a parent?"

Dana smiled. "Yes. I want it all. Seeing you pregnant. Watching our kids be born. Raising them. Getting old and having grandkids. A whole legacy with you."

Abike nodded. "Family is precious. When God calls me, I want to be one of the happy ancestors."

Dana kissed her deeply, soft and slow, lips lingering like a vow. Abike melted into the moment, her body relaxing beneath her wife’s familiar weight, the anxiety of the day dissolving into warmth and trust.

When Dana pulled back, her eyes were filled with love, but also with something deeper: devotion, purpose. She reached for the insemination syringe, cradling it like something sacred. Abike’s heart beat faster as she spread her legs wider, her breath hitching with anticipation.

“This is it,” Dana whispered, reverently.

Abike nodded, her thighs trembling slightly. Dana moved between them with a gentle, assured grace. The tip of the catheter brushed against Abike’s entrance, cool at first, then warming as it slid inside with exquisite care. She exhaled, forcing her body to relax. Her gaze stayed fixed on Dana, her anchor.

With slow precision, Dana depressed the plunger, releasing the donor sperm, tiny, potent hopes, into Abike’s vagina. The final push was silent, but it felt momentous. They weren’t just making a baby. They were beginning a legacy.

Dana leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of Abike’s thigh. Soft. Reverent. Like sealing a promise.

And then she looked up, her eyes dark with intent. “Now,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “let’s improve our chances.”

Abike barely had time to respond before Dana's mouth was on her, kissing a trail up her thigh, across the soft slope of her belly, and over her breasts with slow-burning adoration. Her tongue teased a nipple while her hand moved with practiced certainty between Abike’s thighs, finding her slick and ready.

Abike felt Dana stroking her labia with steady fingers, circling her clit with aching tenderness, building heat with each pass. Abike moaned, her head tilting back as Dana’s fingers slid through her labia minora, massaging, caressing, deliberate, and her thumb stroking her clit just right. Dana played her body like a musical instrument, giving Abike soft, arousing shocks with each touch.

The orgasm hit fast and hard, taking Abike by surprise. Her body arched off the bed, her voice a breathless cry, her hands gripping the sheets as her thighs clenched around Dana’s hand.

But Dana wasn’t done.

She kissed Abike's lips, slow and thorough, even as her fingers started to move again, insistent and unrelenting. The second orgasm built more slowly, rolling through Abike like thunder, deep and shuddering. She cried out again, grasping Dana’s shoulders and calling her name.

Still, Dana moved with purpose, hands, lips, body, all in sync. Worshipful. Intentional. The third orgasm came like a storm breaking. Abike trembled, laughing breathlessly as her limbs turned to water.

“Let me catch my breath,” she gasped, eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising and falling, recovering from Dana’s attentive lovemaking.

Dana chuckled, that rich, low sound that always made Abike feel safe. “Rest now,” she said, brushing sweat-damp braids from Abike’s face. “We’ll go again in a couple of hours.”

Abike was pulled into her arms, wrapped in the warmth of her body, and held close like she was the most precious thing in the world.

And in that quiet, candlelit room, Abike lay still in Dana’s embrace, her body humming with afterglow and anticipation.

It was a good day to make a baby.

Part Four: Confirmation

Five weeks later, they sat in Dr. Jones’s office again. The lights were low. The ultrasound beeped.

Dr. Jones grinned. "Congratulations. Y’all are pregnant."

She turned the screen. A black-and-white image. A tiny flutter.

"There’s a yolk sac. A heartbeat. It looks good. Still early, the size of a pea, but good."

Dana grinned from ear to ear.

Abike’s hand flew to her mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Is this real?"

"It’s real," Dana whispered. "We did it."

They walked out into the sunlight hand in hand.

They sat on their couch that night holding each other, laughing, crying, kissing, and marveling at the ultrasound picture.

They were building a family, a legacy.

Together.

And this? This was only the beginning.