For three long years, we tried to have a baby. That period became the most difficult chapter of our marriage.
I would cry alone in the bathroom at work, then walk back into my classroom forcing a smile while my students proudly showed me drawings of their families—mommy, daddy, and baby. We went through fertility tests, hormone injections, and countless disappointments. Each negative result chipped away at me.
Then, one morning, when I almost didn’t take the test because I couldn’t face another failure, I saw it—a faint line.
At the doctor’s office, when the doctor smiled and said, “Congratulations, you’re pregnant,” I completely broke down in tears. Michael wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “We did it, baby.” That moment stayed with me, like a warm light glowing in my chest.
We painted the nursery a soft green. I carefully folded tiny onesies, imagining bedtime stories, first steps, and the kind of sports she might play someday. It felt like everything was finally falling into place.
But as my belly grew, something in Michael began to change.
He started spending more time away from home. “Just grabbing drinks with the guys,” he would say, coming back late, smelling of beer and cigarettes. When I once asked, “Since when do you smoke?” he laughed it off: “It’s secondhand. Relax, babe.”
He became distant. He stopped placing his hand on my belly. The tender kisses disappeared. Whenever I asked if something was wrong, he would brush me off with, “Yeah. Just work stuff.”
By the time I reached 35 weeks, I was completely drained—physically and emotionally. My back constantly ached, my feet were swollen, and my doctor warned me, “Be ready. You could go into labor at any time.” My hospital bag was already packed and waiting by the door.
That night, I was folding baby clothes again when my phone buzzed. Michael’s voice sounded unusually cheerful:
“Hey, babe. Don’t freak out, but the guys are coming over tonight. Big game. Didn’t want to go to a bar with all that smoke, so we’ll watch here.”
I glanced at the clock—it was almost 9 p.m.
“Michael, I need sleep. And what if something happens tonight? I might need to go to the hospital.”
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