The day my son was born should have been the happiest of my life. Instead, it was the day my entire world began to fall apart. When my husband finally showed up at the hospital, what he said left me questioning everything.
I’ve been married to my husband, Ethan, for 21 years. For most of that time, we’ve battled infertility. I’ve shed more tears than I ever thought possible—tears of hope, disappointment, and despair.
Stressed out woman | Source: Midjourney
When we first started trying, Ethan seemed supportive enough, attending doctor’s appointments and holding my hand as we navigated the maze of treatments. But as the years dragged on, something shifted. He started behaving… differently.
I brushed it off for the longest time, convincing myself it was just the strain of our situation. After all, infertility takes its toll on a marriage. But his late nights at work and secret calls became more frequent.
I’d hear him murmur things like, “I’ll call you later,” before quickly hanging up when I walked in.
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Man seated in his office at night | Source: Midjourney
It was unsettling, but I chose not to focus on it. I was so consumed by the desperate desire for a child that I couldn’t allow myself to spiral into paranoia.
By the time I turned 40, I had nearly given up hope. But something in me—call it stubbornness or sheer desperation—refused to let go completely. I decided to try one last time. Ethan seemed indifferent, mumbling something about “whatever makes you happy” when I told him about my decision. That hurt more than I cared to admit.
And then, against all odds, it happened. I got pregnant.