Austin ran his hands through his hair. That gesture he did when he was stressed about work. Except this time, the stress was her. I’m saying maybe we rushed into this whole baby thing. Maybe we need to figure out if we’re even compatible long term before we bring a child into this mess. This mess. 3 years of marriage and suddenly they were a mess.
Austin, we’ve been together for 5 years. We’re married. How much more compatible do we need to be? He stood up and started pacing, avoiding her eyes. That’s just it, Amanda. I feel like all we do anymore is focus on getting pregnant. When’s the last time we just enjoyed each other? When’s the last time we had fun? She wanted to remind him that he was the one who’d turned their relationship into a fertility clinic.
He was the one tracking her cycles, scheduling their intimacy, making doctor appointments. But something in his tone told her this conversation was heading somewhere she wasn’t prepared for. “We can have fun again,” she said, standing up. “We can take a vacation, go back to date nights, do whatever you want, but taking a break from each other.
” “Austin, that sounds like you want to separate.” “Maybe I do.” The room went completely silent, except for the sound of her heartbreaking. She’d known things were strained, but she thought they were working through it together. She thought the fertility struggle was something happening to them, not something he blamed her for.
“Is this about the pregnancy?” she asked. “Because the doctors said there’s still hope. We could try IVF.” Or, “Amanda, stop.” Austin finally looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes was worse than anger. It was pity. This isn’t just about getting pregnant anymore. This is about who we’ve become. I feel like I’m married to someone whose only identity is trying to have a baby because you made it my only identity.
The words exploded out of her before she could stop them. You’re the one who bought the ovulation kits. You’re the one who scheduled everything. You’re the one who made me feel like a failure every month. I never said you were a failure. You didn’t have to say it. I could see it in your face every time I got my period.
I could hear it in your voice when you talked to your friends about how hard this was for you. Like I was some kind of defective appliance you were stuck with. Austin’s jaw tightened. That’s not fair and you know it. I’ve been nothing but supportive through this whole process. Supportive? She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
Austin, you stopped touching me unless it was ovulation week. You stopped asking about my day unless it involved doctor appointments. You turned me into a project you were trying to fix. Maybe because that’s all you became. The words came out harsher than he’d intended. And she watched him realize he’d said the quiet part out loud. I mean, no, don’t take it back.
That’s what you really think, isn’t it? That I became broken and you got tired of dealing with it. They stared at each other across their bedroom, and she felt the foundation of everything she’d believed about their marriage cracking beneath her feet. This wasn’t about taking a break from trying to conceive.
