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I wanted to be a mother more than anything. After years of loss and heartbreak, my prayers were finally answered — and my family grew in ways I never imagined. But 17 years later, one quiet sentence from my adopted daughter broke my heart.
I sat in my car in the parking lot of the fertility clinic, watching a woman walk out holding an ultrasound photo.
Her face glowed like she’d just been handed the world.
I was so empty I couldn’t even cry anymore.
At home, my husband and I danced around each other, choosing words the way you’d choose which floorboard to step on in an old house.
A few months later, as my next fertile phase approached, the tension returned to our home.
“We can take a break.” My husband’s hands were on my shoulders, thumbs making small circles.
“I don’t want a break. I want a baby.”