We grew up together. We made mistakes, forgave each other, and learned how to communicate without raising our voices. When we finally married, it felt earned, not rushed.
We worked hard, saved carefully, and eventually bought a modest two-bedroom house in a quiet New Jersey suburb. I taught third grade, a job that filled me with both exhaustion and joy. Andrew worked in IT, steady and practical.
We didn’t chase luxury or attention. We just wanted peace, stability, and eventually, a family. Trying to have a baby nearly broke us.
For three long years, we tried. Month after month passed with hope rising and crashing just as quickly. I cried in school bathrooms during lunch breaks.
I smiled through parent-teacher conferences while my heart ached. I watched my students draw pictures of their families, complete with siblings and smiling parents, and wondered if that future would ever be mine. There were fertility appointments, hormone injections, blood tests, and quiet car rides home where neither of us spoke
Continue reading…
