My name is Sarah. I’m 38 years old, and for the past eighteen years, I’ve kept a secret about my marriage that I never even dared tell my own mother.
Everything changed last Tuesday.
That morning, I waited until my husband, Michael, left for work. Then I put on my loosest dress, took the money I’d secretly saved from grocery shopping, and drove to a medical clinic.
Michael had no idea I was seeing a doctor.
During the first years of our marriage, everything was wonderful. We were young, deeply in love, and dreamed of having a big family.
But the years passed, and I never became pregnant.
At first, I was hopeful. Then I became frightened.
My belly gradually grew larger. I often experienced pain and exhaustion, but Michael always told me the same thing.
“Sarah, that’s just how your body is. Don’t torture yourself. We already know why we don’t have children.”