Weeks passed, and something felt… off. My cycle never came. My body felt different in ways I couldn’t explain. For the first time in a long time, I let hope slip in—reckless, uninvited, and too damn dangerous.
I told myself not to get ahead of things, but the thought latched on, threading itself into every quiet moment. What if?
I booked an appointment with Dr. Serena, even though I already knew what she was going to say. She’s been my doctor long enough to see through me.
The exam was quick, but the silence that followed stretched too long. Then came the truth I had been avoiding.
No pregnancy.
Just swollen glands and hormonal shifts—my body doing what it does, playing tricks on me.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod as she spoke. If I wanted to be a mother, it wouldn’t happen the way it does for most women. No happy accidents, no missed periods turning into miracles. My body wasn’t wired for that kind of simplicity. If I wanted a child, I’d have to fight for it—through procedures, through uncertainty, through a process that felt more like science than destiny.
I felt the sting before the first tear even fell. Dr. Serena reached for my hand.
"You’re already whole," she said softly. "No one path to motherhood is more valid than another. Whatever your future holds, it will be enough."
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But as I left her office, my relief tangled with something heavier—something that settled deep in my bones.
Malcolm wanted a family. A wife, children, the whole dream wrapped in something simple and undeniable.
I couldn’t give him that. Not the way he pictured it.
The question that lingered, sharp and suffocating, was—would he still want me without it?
And worse… did I even want to hear his answer?
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