I had waited two decades, undergoing every treatment imaginable, all in the hopes of becoming a mother.
The day my son finally arrived should have been a dream come true. Instead, my husband’s reaction plunged me into a nightmare, shattering my world.
Ethan and I had shared twenty – one years of marriage. For the vast majority of that time, we fought a losing battle against infertility.
Each cycle of hope, dashed by the despair of negative tests, was accompanied by countless tears.
In the early days, Ethan seemed like my rock. He’d accompany me to doctor’s appointments, offering comfort and support through the arduous treatments.
But as the years wore on, he began to change. He grew increasingly distant, spending more and more time away from home.
At first, I tried to rationalize his late – night arrivals and hushed phone conversations.
Infertility is a strain on any relationship, and I convinced myself that this was just a phase.
But as his secretive behavior persisted, I couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease.
