Ithought the pain would be the hardest thing I would face. Then I heard my mother-in-law tell my husband that I was useless for not being able to give him children. I spent the next few hours preparing for him to leave. What he gave me made me realize that some people see weakness where others see courage.
The baby’s bedroom door remained closed for three weeks.
I couldn’t open it. I couldn’t even look at it without feeling like someone had reached into my chest and ripped everything out. Chris and I had spent months preparing that room.
The baby’s bedroom door remained closed for three weeks.
We had painted the walls a soft yellow because we wanted them to look like sunbeams. We had hung clothes in the wardrobe and stacked books on the shelf.
Then I lost the baby five weeks before the expected delivery date.
The doctors said it sometimes happened, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
After that, I became a shell. I slept until noon most days. When Chris brought me food, I’d give him a few bites to make him stop worrying.
But I wasn’t hungry. I felt nothing. I only existed in that fog where nothing seemed real and everything felt heavy.
I lost the baby five weeks before my due date.
Chris tried to help me. He would sit on the edge of the bed and ask if I wanted to talk, go for a walk, or watch a movie. I would shake my head, he would kiss my forehead, and then leave me alone.
She knew he was suffering too, but she couldn’t reach out to him. She couldn’t get anywhere.
“Kylie, please,” he whispered one night. “Tell me what you need.”
“I don’t know,” I told him. And I honestly didn’t know.
“I’m here,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I wanted to believe him. But grief has a way of making you doubt everything. That was the truth that scared me the most.
She knew he was suffering too, but she couldn’t reach out to him.
One Thursday afternoon, I woke up to the sound of voices downstairs.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. But then I heard her. Stella. Chris’s mother. Her voice was deep but high-pitched, as if she were trying to keep it under control but couldn’t.
I sat up slowly, my heart pounding.
“She’s no good anymore,” Stella said. “What do you need her for? She can’t give you children. Look at her, Chris. Sleeping all day. Doing nothing. If she really cared about you, she’d try harder to keep you.”
My heart tensed, as if bracing for impact. Each word landed like a punch I couldn’t block.
“He can’t give you children.”
Chris said something I couldn’t hear. His voice was calmer and softer. But Stella continued.
“You’re young. You could find someone else. Someone who could give you a family. Don’t waste your life with a woman who can’t do the one thing she’s supposed to do.”
I covered my head with the blanket and put my hands to my ears, but it didn’t help at all.
The words had already sunk in. They were already living inside me, confirming all the horrible things I’d thought about myself since the abortion. Maybe I was right. Maybe I was broken. Maybe Chris deserved better.
I covered my head with the blanket and put my hands to my ears.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered into the darkness. But no one answered.
***
The next morning, Chris came into the bedroom with a cup of coffee. He placed it on the bedside table and sat down next to me. His face looked tired and worn, as if he hadn’t slept much either.
“Kylie,” he said gently. “We need to talk tonight.”
A feeling of disgust rose from my gut and settled in my chest.
The moment had arrived. He was the one who put an end to things.
I’d been waiting for it, hadn’t I? Waiting for him to realize that Stella was right.
That I couldn’t give him what he wanted. That I was too much work for too little reward.
“We need to talk tonight.”
I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice.
“OK”.
But somewhere beneath the panic, a small voice whispered that Chris wasn’t the type of man to break promises. The real problem had always been Stella.
He held out his hand, but I pulled it away. I couldn’t bear the kindness right before saying goodbye.
“Kylie,” he said again.
“I said okay, Chris. Go to work.”
A small voice whispered that Chris wasn’t the type of man who broke promises.
He hesitated, then stood up. “I love you. You know that, right?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. How could I?
He kissed me on the forehead and went to work.
I sat staring at the coffee until it got cold. I spent all day trying to get ready. I took a shower for the first time in days. I put on real clothes instead of pajamas. I even brushed my hair and put on a little makeup.
I sat staring at the coffee until it cooled down.
I thought if I dressed up, it would be easier for him. As if he wouldn’t feel so guilty about leaving someone who seemed to have it all figured out.
I practiced my smile in the mirror, but it looked wrong and hollow.
“You can do it,” I told my reflection. “You can survive this.”
But I wasn’t sure I believed it.
I thought that if I fixed myself up, it would be easier for him.
When Chris arrived home that night, he asked me to go to the dining room.
I went in and stopped.
The table was set with candles and my favorite pasta dish. The lights were dim. It seemed almost romantic, except that Stella was sitting there too, with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed tightly together.
My heart was beating strongly.
It seemed almost romantic, except that Stella was sitting there too.
That was worse than I thought.
She had brought her mother along to witness the breakup. To make sure she understood that it was truly over.
“Please, sit down.”
I did it. My pulse raced as if I’d driven into traffic without looking.
I couldn’t look at Stella.
She had brought her mother along to witness the breakup.
Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. It was wrapped in silver foil with a white ribbon.
“Open it, Kylie. Please. It will change everything.”
I picked up the box with trembling fingers. It was light. Too light to be a jewel. Too light to be whatever it was my heart was waiting for. I removed the tape and lifted the lid.
I picked up the box with trembling fingers.
Inside was a tiny porcelain doll, wrapped in a soft satin blanket. And tucked in next to it was a card with one word on it, written in Chris’s cursive handwriting: Let’s Adopt.
I stared at her. Then I looked at Chris. Then I looked back at the doll. And I broke down. I sobbed so hard I couldn’t breathe.
Relief washed over me like water rushing through a dam. He wouldn’t abandon me. He wasn’t giving up.
Let’s adopt.
My Chris loved us. He wanted to start a family with me, even if it was different from what we had planned.
“Chris,” I choked.
“I love you, Kylie. That hasn’t changed. It will never change.”
“But I thought you were going to leave me. I heard your mother telling you…”
“I’m sorry you spent even a second believing I would let you,” he said, kneeling beside my chair.
Then Stella lunged across the table and snatched the box from me.
“I heard your mother telling you…”.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” she yelled at Chris. “Are you crazy?! I’ll throw this away before it’s too late! You can still fix it!”
I backed away, but Chris calmly stood up. “Mom, give it back to me.”
“No!” she clutched the box to her chest. “I want MY grandson! Not someone else’s leftovers! She failed you, Chris. She failed you at the one thing women are supposed to do. And now you reward her?”
His words were like slaps in the face.
Stella lunged across the table and snatched the box from me.
“She’s broken. Don’t you realize that? She’s damaged goods. You deserve better. You deserve a real family with real children who share YOUR blood.”
I started trembling. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Then I remembered something Chris had told me years ago. Something Stella never talked about.
“You were adopted, Stella.”
The room fell silent. Stella remained motionless, the box still clutched to her chest.
“It’s damaged goods.”
“Chris showed me a picture once,” I added. “You and your adoptive parents when you were a baby. He said they gave you everything. That they saved you.”
Stella’s face went pale. “So how can you just stand there and call an adopted child ‘leftovers’ when you were once that child? When someone chose you?”
“How dare you!” Stella shouted. “That was different! I was loved! My parents couldn’t have children. And you? You had your chance and you failed.”
“You and your adoptive parents when you were a baby.”
Chris stood in front of me, blocking Stella’s view.
“Stop, Mom.”
“Chris, please. I’m your mother. I only want what’s best for you.”
“Then you should love Kylie. Because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“She can’t give you a baby!”
“So what? Do you think that’s all that matters? Do you think that’s what makes a family?”
“Do you think a doll and a stranger’s child make a family? I wanted a grandchild… from YOU. From HER. Not someone else’s leftovers.”
“I only want what’s best for you.”
“You have to leave. Right now.”
“That?”
“You heard me, Mom. Get out of my house.”
“Chris, I’m trying to help you! I’m trying to prevent you from making a big mistake.”
“The only one at fault here is you. You came into my house and insulted my wife. You told her she was worthless. You told me to leave her. Do you have any idea what you did?”
“You have to leave.”
“I was trying to protect you!”
“About what? About love? About loyalty? About the woman who has been by my side through everything?”
Stella’s eyes filled with tears. “He can’t give you children!” she shouted again.
“Motherhood isn’t about blood, Mom. It’s about love. And Kylie has more love than anyone I’ve ever known. She’s not broken. She’s heartbroken. And you’ve made it a thousand times worse.”
“I just want you to be happy, son,” Stella whispered.
“Then respect my decisions. Respect my wife. Or don’t come back.”
“I was trying to protect you!”
Stella looked at me, her face twisted with anger and pain. “You did this. You turned my son against me.”
I opened my mouth, but Chris cut me off. “No. You did this. You chose cruelty over compassion. You chose judgment over support. This is your fault.”
He went to the door and opened it.
“Go away, Mom. Now.”
She grabbed her purse and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed throughout the house. The silence that followed was ominous. I sat there, clutching my doll, my face wet with tears.
“You preferred cruelty to compassion.”
Chris came back and knelt in front of me. “I’m so sorry. I should have stopped her sooner. I shouldn’t have let her talk to you like that.”
“You stopped her. You chose me.”
“Always. I’ll always choose you, Kylie.”
I pulled him closer and finally allowed myself to believe it.
***
Later that evening, we sat together on the sofa. Chris took my hand and told me about Kevin, a three-year-old boy who had lost his parents in a car accident six months earlier. A friend at the adoption agency had mentioned him, and Chris had been gathering information for weeks.
“I should have stopped her sooner.”
“I wanted to wait until you were ready. But when my mother told me to let you go yesterday, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed you to know that this doesn’t end with us. It begins with us.”
I looked at the doll in my lap. “Tell me about him… about Kevin.”
Chris smiled. “He loves dinosaurs. He’s shy around new people, but he warms up quickly. He has curly hair and the biggest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.”
Does he know about us?
“Not yet. But the agency thinks we’d be a good fit. They want us to go next week. To meet him. To see if it’s a good fit.”
“I needed you to know that this doesn’t end with us.”
At first it was gentle, like the fluttering of wings. But it was there… hope, making its way through.
“I thought you were going to abandon me. I thought I had lost you too.”
“Never. Kylie, you’re not broken. You’re not worthless. You’re the woman I married. The woman I love. And nothing will ever change that. Not my mother. Not this loss. Nothing.”
I leaned towards him and finally allowed myself to believe it.
“We’re going to meet Kevin next week,” Chris added gently. “If you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“Then let’s bring him home.”
At first it was gentle, like the flapping of wings.
Yesterday I stood in front of the daycare door. I hadn’t opened it since the abortion. But it felt different. I turned the handle and went inside.
The yellow walls still looked sunny. The books were still lined up on the shelves. But now there was a new photo next to them: three-year-old Kevin, with dark curly hair and a shy smile.
Next to her picture was the little doll Chris had given me, still wrapped in her satin blanket. I picked her up and hugged her close. Just a week ago, I was preparing to say goodbye. Today, we’re preparing to bring Kevin home.
Some miracles don’t come from the womb. They come from wounds. And family isn’t always what we plan. It’s what we choose.
Just a week ago, I was preparing for the farewell.
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