The doctor shifted uncomfortably. “He declined testing. He said the issue was likely not on his side.”
Declined.
That was it. The confirmation I hadn’t wanted. He had never even let them test him.
When I left the office, the autumn air felt heavier, like it was pressing me down. For years, I had carried guilt and shame for something that wasn’t even my fault. For years, I had thought my body had betrayed me. All the while, the betrayal had come from the person I trusted most.
That night, when Julian came home, I sat at the kitchen table with the folder of medical records open in front of me.
He walked in, dropped his keys, and smiled at me. “Hey, babe. What’s for dinner?”
I didn’t answer. My throat was tight.
His smile faded as he noticed the papers. “What’s that?”
I looked at him, really looked at him, and finally asked, “Why did you make sure we’d never have kids?”
The blood drained from his face. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but no sound came out at first.
