My son’s birth should have been the happiest day of my life. Rather, it marked the beginning of the collapse of everything. What my husband stated when he eventually arrived at the hospital startled me and caused me to doubt everything.
21 years had passed since our marriage. We were experiencing difficulties becoming pregnant for the majority of that time. There was hope, despair, and endless tears during the battle.
Ethan initially appeared to be helpful. He accompanied me to all of my doctor’s appointments and supported me during the highs and lows of my treatments. But as time went on, something changed. He took a step back.
I initially assumed that his late nights and hushed phone conversations were simply indications that he was anxious about our role. Infertility damages any marriage, and I convinced myself that this one was no exception. However, the concealment continued, and I was unable to ignore the bad sensation in my stomach.
He would abruptly cease calls with the ambiguous phrase, “When I have time,” as soon as I entered a room, and I didn’t give it any thought. I refused to let fear control me because I was so focused on my goal of being a parent.
By the time I was forty, I was on the verge of giving up. However, I had a stubborn side that would not go away. I decided to give it another go. Ethan merely said, “Do what makes you happy,” when I told him. I was hurt by his lack of interest, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Then, despite everything, I discovered I was expecting a child.
I held the test in my trembling hands and said to him, “We did it, Ethan.” “I am expecting a child.”
“That’s great,” he remarked. In contrast, his tone sounded strained and disinterested. I decided to ignore it and continue focusing on the gift that was developing within me.
Nine months later, I had a boy. He was beautiful. But Ethan wouldn’t go into the birth room.
When I begged him to stay, he said, “I’ll just pass out.” “They should take care of me instead of you.”
I had to deal with it by myself. When Ethan finally came home two hours after the birth, his first words broke my heart.
“Are you sure it’s mine?” He spoke in a cold, distant way.
I was dumbfounded as I looked at him. “What?” Ethan, you have no right to say that. He’s yours, of course! We’ve been trying for years to have this child!”
As he reached into his jacket pocket, his jaw got tight. His voice was cold as he said, “I have proof.”
The room turned around. Proof? What is the proof?
He claimed his mother had sent him photos of a man who was allegedly meeting me outside our home. She even claimed that I had switched children at the hospital and that the infant wasn’t mine.
“This is absurd!” Do you actually think these lies are true? My voice was trembling as I asked.
“She wouldn’t lie to me,” he said firmly. “She’s my mother.”
“And you are my spouse!” Tears streaming down my cheeks, I shot back. “You are accusing me of this? I nearly passed away while giving birth to our baby.
Then he turned and walked away. “Notify me when you’re prepared to speak.”
As soon as he departed, I gave my best friend Lily a call. I sobbed as I told her everything.
“Claire, this doesn’t make sense,” she said when I finished. “There’s a problem.” I am able to assist you.
That evening, Lily followed Ethan and witnessed him enter another woman’s home. After she informed me, I felt as though I had run out of oxygen.
“You must hire someone, Claire. “This is bigger than you think,” Lily informed her.
Lydia is a private investigator, but I didn’t want to hire her. After carefully listening to my experience, she promised to respond within two days.
I wasn’t even surprised when Ethan didn’t return home after I left the hospital. But I was devastated when Lydia returned with her findings.
Her words struck me like a bolt of lightning. “That isn’t feasible!” I raised my voice.
A folder was slid across the table by Lydia. “This includes photographs, bank records, and even evidence that he compromised your fertility treatments.”
My heart was broken. “Wound up?” You mean what?
“Some clinics reported errors that were inexplicable and corrected results.” “Ethan did not wish for you to become pregnant.”
Her words were difficult for me to understand. All of my experiences—desperation, hope, and tears—were false.
I became enraged when I saw my kid Liam dozing off in his crib. After everything that Ethan had taken from me, I refused to allow him to take anything more.
That evening, I gave my lawyer a call. “We need to do something now,” I said to them.
When Ethan returned a few days later, I was prepared. There were divorce-related items on the kitchen table.
He said, “I’m sorry, Claire,” in an attempt to appear apologetic. “I made a mistake, but we can correct it.”
“Really?” So tell me, what are your three children’s names?
His face went white. I didn’t hold out for a response. “The document is on the table.” Sign them and get out of there.
Taking the papers with him, he walked away silently.
The break ended swiftly. I kept the house and everything I had worked for, but Ethan received a little amount. In addition, my attorney was assembling evidence against him and the fertility clinics he collaborated with.
I whispered to Liam as I rocked him to sleep late one night, “I’ll make sure you grow up with lots of love.” You won’t ever question your value.
For the first time in years, I felt calm.