she’d ask. “Just tired,” he’d say, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Work is a grind. The clients are never happy.” She wanted to believe him. Until one rainy spring evening, the floor fell out from under her.
“It’s been two years, Sarah. Nothing.” Tom looked at her with a stranger’s eyes. “Is it true? About the procedure you had in college?” The question felt like a slap.
For a second, she thought she’d misheard him. “What? What are you talking about?” “I know. Someone told me.”
“Who?” She felt a cold wave of dread. “Who would say something like that?” “It doesn’t matter,” he said, turning away.
“What matters is that you lied. You told me I was the first. But you had a history.” “Tom, listen to me,” she said, grabbing his arm.
“You *were* the first. I never had an abortion. I don’t know where you’re getting this. It’s a lie.”
“Then why can’t you get pregnant?” He spun around, his face a mask of anger and pain. “Is nature punishing us? Or just you?”
Tears blurred her vision. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe we should see a specialist.”
“My mother says these things happen after ‘complications,'” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Scar tissue. It’s a common consequence.” “Your mother!” Sarah gasped.
“You discussed our private life with your mother?” He shrugged, a cold, detached gesture. “She’s a doctor, Sarah. And she’s wondering why she doesn’t have grandkids yet.”
The argument was brutal. Sarah screamed that she’d never lied, that she was raised in a strict household where honesty was everything. “Maybe it’s not me!” she cried out in desperation.
“Maybe the problem is you!” She regretted it instantly. Tom’s face went white. He turned and slammed the door so hard the picture frames rattled.
Sarah spent the night curled up on the bed. Tom returned the next morning, looking haggard. “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
“I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just the stress.” They hugged, but the warmth was gone. A wall had been built between them.
A week later, they were in a fertility clinic. The doctor, a woman with tired but kind eyes, looked over their charts.
“You have some hormonal imbalances and signs of chronic inflammation,” she said to Sarah. “It looks like the result of an untreated infection from years ago. Did you know about this?” Sarah shook her head.
When she was sixteen, she’d had a terrible flu and high fever, but her mother, working two jobs, couldn’t take her to the doctor. “Take some aspirin and get to bed,” she’d said. “Can it be fixed?” Tom’s voice was tight.
The doctor sighed. “Completely? Probably not. We can try treatments, but… honestly, I’d suggest looking into adoption. There are so many children who need a home.”
The drive home was silent. Sarah watched Tom’s profile—the set jaw, the furrowed brow. She knew that for him, as an only son, carrying on the family name was a mission, not just a wish.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said, taking his hand. “I’ll do the treatments. We can do this.” He nodded, but his eyes were empty.
The next few months were a nightmare of hormones, injections, and diets. Sarah felt like her body was a battlefield.
Every month brought hope, followed by the crushing reality of a period. She cried into her pillow at night so Tom wouldn’t hear. He grew more distant, spending weekends at his parents’ house, telling her she “needed her rest.”
Six months later, he came home late, smelling of scotch and expensive perfume. Sarah was sitting in the dark kitchen. “I met someone,” he said, his voice flat.
“She… we’re working on a project together. And she’s…” “Pregnant?” The word felt like glass in her mouth.
He nodded, unable to look at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t spend years waiting for a miracle. I’m almost thirty. I want to be a father.”
In that moment, Sarah felt a strange sense of relief. The weight of trying to be “enough” for him and his family finally vanished. “Get out,” she said calmly. “Now.”
The divorce was quick. Tom was generous with the settlement, leaving her most of the furniture and half their savings. He moved in with his parents and later bought a house in a gated community for his new family.
The pain hit later, in the quiet. She’d wake up gasping with guilt. Had she tried hard enough?
Should she have been more patient with his “needs”?
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