Another Saturday, another reminder of my lack.
As we drove to our friends’ home for their daughter’s first birthday, I attempted to smile despite the aching in my chest that came with every balloon, little shoe, and cooing baby giggle I wanted.
I most wanted to be a mom. That desire was ingrained in me. I held onto optimism despite every blood test, specialist visit, and medicine that left me swollen and devastated for years. Every month, I saw another negative test, my heart falling further into a void I couldn’t escape.
I had no medical explanation or diagnosis. The physicians dubbed it “unexplained infertility,” making me feel even more powerless. Caleb, my spouse, attempted to anchor me.
Do not worry, Jules. “Good things take time,” he said, pulling me into his arms.
I saw it. His jaw stiffened when I brought terrible news home. A hint of disappointment beneath his worn grin. How he swiftly shifted the conversation when I mentioned adoption or IVF.
I felt guilty for being “the problem.” I felt like I was denying him his proper life. He never said anything, but quiet was louder.
I barely made it an hour at the party Saturday. Everyone was natural holding their infants, taking photographs, and laughing. Like a shadow in the sun. I went to the backyard to breathe and gather my thoughts.
Then I heard him.
Caleb.
He was on the opposite side of the patio, under the pergola, with three companions, drinking beer and laughing. I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping, yet his sharp, unadulterated voice wafted in the air.
One man said, “Why don’t you two adopt already? Jules’s eyes show anguish, man.”
Catching my breath.
Frozen, I slumped against the side gate.
Then Caleb laughed. Unrecognizable low, acrid sound. “Yeah, it’s true,” he muttered. I ensured we’d never have a moocher.
My ears ringing.
I was confused. What he meant?
He laughed, “I had a vasectomy a few years ago.”
Whole universe stopped.
I held onto the wooden fence to avoid falling.
He continued—m.0.cking our shared dream. “No midnight crying, baby weight drama, or diaper costs. This makes life easier.”
People laughed around him. But none of his pals stopped him. Nobody questioned it.
In a stupor, I left the gathering. As I passed, someone inquired whether I was alright. I murmured about feeling sick. Caleb hardly looked at me.
Shivering and numb, I drove home on autopilot. We were never given a chance by my husband, who kissed my forehead after every negative test and told me “it’s just not our time yet”. He trashed my hope, sorrow, and faith in us.
Choosing a secret above our future.
In our living room with the lights out, I thought of all the ways I’d blamed myself. Every ache I felt, believing my body was shattered. He knew all along. He knew no child would be born.
I was on the sofa with a cold coffee the following morning when my phone buzzed. It was Caleb’s pal Nolan. Same partygoer.
I replied quickly, “Hello?”
“Jules…” His voice shook. “I wasn’t sure if I should call, but after last night…
“I know,” I answered bluntly.
A break. “You heard?”
“Every disgusting word,” I said. “If you have more to say, now is the time.”
Exhaling, he sounded guilty. I didn’t know he did that. I assumed you were both suffering. Like naturally. I never thought he betrayed you.”
“You and me both,” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry,” Nolan said. You deserve the truth. You deserve someone who shares your goals.”
It was little. It was something. After years of deception, I’d rather know the truth.
A tempest raged within me as I glanced out the window after the call. I wouldn’t let Caleb win. He believed he could take my motherhood, choice, and truth? He didn’t know his opponent.
Started planning.
I stole a positive pregnancy test and ultrasound report from my six-month-pregnant friend Mia a few weeks later. She was enraged when I told her what Caleb had done since she had endured every loss and disappointment.
“You won’t leave quietly, are you?” She asked.
“No,” I responded, holding the exam. “He needs to experience having his world ripped away.”
I set the setting the night Caleb came home with beer, as usual.
Faking terror, I entered the room with the test and ultrasound in my shaky hands. “Caleb,” I said, “we need to talk.”
Slowly raising his eyebrows, he peered up. “What’s up?”
“I’m pregnant,” I murmured.
The color left his face.
A bottle fell from his hand and hit the counter. “What? That’s impossible. You… You cannot.”
“Why not?” I asked innocently, feigning tears. Isn’t this what we wanted?
Caleb panicked instantly. Pulling at his hair, he paced the kitchen. “See the doctor again. That’s wrong. No way!”
Finally, he broke. I had a vasectomy!
My face turned from uncertainty to rage as I retreated. “You what?”
He froze.
Being aware of his confession.
Looking at him, my lips trembled and my voice became chilly. “I know, Caleb. You were heard at the party. I knew weeks ago.”
“Jules, wait, I can explain—”
“No, you can’t,” I said, stuffing the test and paper in his chest. “You made me feel broken. You let me plead for a kid I’d never have.”
His face was distorted with shame or dread of losing control.
“I’m done,” I said. “This marriage? It’s over. End of week, I’m leaving.”
He didn’t pursue me. Maybe he realized nothing he could say would repair years of lying.
I was not done.
A few days later, I met Dana, a lawyer with a cool, razor-sharp attitude who made me feel comfortable. Told her everything.
“I want out,” I said. I want clean, quick, and on my terms.
“Then let’s start,” she remarked, opening a folder. We’ll make sure he doesn’t get away clean.
Caleb’s calls were a regular bombardment. Texts like “I’m sorry,” “You’re being dramatic,” and “You’re ruining our life.” I remained silent.
Signing the initial divorce papers felt like breathing again. He was losing control of my life. First time in years, I could hope.
The week after I filed, Nolan messaged me again. Just checking in. Thinking about you.”
We chatted. Small talk. Longer ones follow. Then coffee. Dinners developed into walks, then admissions.
He continued, “You know,” while we watched the sky, “I always admired your strength. Despite pain, you fought.”
I blinked back tears. “You were one of my only witnesses. The genuine me.”
In subsequent months, he shown compassion. We took our time. We healed. Together.
We married a year later in a private ceremony beneath an oak tree with people who loved us for who we were, not our positions.
Suddenly, something amazing occurred.
A period was missing.
With heart in throat, I took the exam. Positive.
This time was genuine.
When I told Nolan, he cried and hugged me. “We’re going to be parents,” he muttered.
I agreed, eventually sobbing happy tears. “And this time, it’s with someone who wants it.”
Months later, lying in bed with Nolan’s palm on my swelling tummy, I looked at the life I had built—not the one I was deceived into, but the one I chose.
“This is love,” I muttered. “And I won’t let go.
