The best day of my life should have been when my son was born. Instead, it was the start of everything falling apart. When my husband finally got to the hospital, what he said shocked me deeply and made me question everything.
We had been married for 21 years. During most of that time, we were having trouble getting pregnant. It was a fight full of hope, despair, and unending tears.
In the beginning, Ethan seemed helpful. He went to all of my doctor’s appointments and held my hand through the ups and downs of treatments. But something changed over time. He moved away.
At first, I thought that his late nights and whispered phone calls were just signs that he was stressed about our position. Any marriage is hurt by infertility, and I told myself this one was no different. But the hiding kept happening, and I couldn’t ignore the uneasy feeling in my gut.
As soon as I walked into a room, I would hear him quickly end calls with a vague “When I have time,” I didn’t think much about how strange it was. I was so focused on my dream of having a child that I wouldn’t let fear take over.
I was almost ready to give up by the time I turned 40. But there was a stubborn part of me that wouldn’t let go. I chose to try one more time. When I told Ethan, he didn’t say much more than, “Do what makes you happy.” I didn’t want to admit how hurt I was by his lack of interest.
