My husband kept visiting our surrogate alone, saying he just wanted to “check on the baby.” But when I hid a voice recorder in his jacket and heard what he was telling her behind my back, my heart stopped. He wasn’t just lying to me; he was planning something devastating.
I can’t have children.
When we first started trying, my husband, Ethan, held me through every negative pregnancy test. He would pull me close, press his lips to my forehead, and say, “We’ll try again,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But after the fourth failed treatment, something shifted.
We stopped talking about baby names. The nursery we’d spent a whole Sunday afternoon planning just became the storage room again.
I can’t have children.
