The subject of children became something we just didn’t touch anymore.
I started noticing the way Ethan looked at families in restaurants. He’d stare, just for a moment, and the second he caught me watching, he’d quickly look away. He never said anything. Neither did I.
That was the problem, really.
We both worked from home, and sometimes it felt like we were spending our days dancing around each other.
We orbited each other politely, carefully.
I started noticing the way Ethan looked at families in restaurants.
One evening, after another doctor’s appointment, I sat on the edge of our bed and said it out loud.
“Maybe we should stop trying.”
Ethan stood by the window with his back to me. “I don’t want to give up on having a child.”
***
A few weeks later, he came home with a thick stack of documents tucked under his arm and an excited look on his face. “I’ve been researching surrogacy.”
I stared at the papers, then looked at him. At that moment, I thought maybe we were going to be okay.
“I don’t want to give up on having a child.”
He handled everything after that: the agency, the lawyers, the interviews.
Eventually, he introduced me to Claire. She was warm and easy to like. She already had two kids of her own, too.
Contracts were signed. The embryo transfer worked.
Claire was pregnant.
For the first time in years, Ethan and I felt like a real family again. Like we were building something together, finally, after so long spent watching it fall apart.
The embryo transfer worked.
At first, we visited Claire together. We brought vitamins, groceries, and a pregnancy pillow I’d spent 40 minutes choosing online.
Claire laughed and shook her head. “You two are spoiling me.”
But a few weeks later, Ethan started going alone.
One afternoon, he kissed my forehead, grabbed his keys, and called back over his shoulder, “Sweetheart, Claire mentioned she might be running low on vitamins. I’ll bring her some.”
At first, we visited Claire together.
“Now?” I asked.
“It’ll only take an hour.”
The visits started happening more often. During the workday, late in the evenings, and on weekends.
One Saturday, I was standing at the stove stirring something when he rushed through the kitchen, already pulling on his jacket.
“Love, I’m going to check on Claire and the baby.”
The visits started happening more often.
“You just saw her two days ago,” I said.
He laughed, the way you laugh when someone says something a little absurd. And then he was out the door before I could even think about stepping away from the stove to go with him.
That kept happening.
Once I grabbed my coat and said, “Wait, I’ll come with you.”
Ethan stopped in the doorway. “You don’t have to.”
That stung.
“Wait, I’ll come with you.”
