This was about Austin being done with her. I think, Austin said carefully, we both need some space to figure out what we really want. I know what I want. I want my husband back. I want the man who used to hold me when I cried. Who used to tell me everything would work out. Who used to make me feel like I was enough just as I am.
Maybe that’s the problem, Amanda. Maybe you were enough for who I was then, but I’ve grown. I’ve changed. And maybe we’re just not compatible anymore. The cruelty of it took her breath away. He was essentially telling her that his growth meant outgrowing her, like she was some phase he’d moved past. So, what are you saying? You want a divorce? I’m saying I want some time apart to think about whether this marriage is what either of us really wants anymore.
She sat down on their bed trying to process what was happening. Where am I supposed to go? This is our house. Actually, Austin said, and something in his tone made her blood run cold. It’s my house. I bought it before we got married. Remember? But I’m not going to kick you out or anything. We can figure out the logistics.
The logistics? He was already talking about their separation like a business transaction. How long have you been thinking about this? She asked quietly. Austin was quiet for a long moment. Honestly, since the last IVF consultation when the doctor said we might need to consider more aggressive treatments. I just kept thinking about whether I wanted to go through all that and whether I wanted to go through it with you, whether he wanted to go through it with her.
Not whether they could handle it together, but whether she was worth the effort. Have you talked to anyone about this? Another pause. I’ve mentioned some of our issues to my brother, and my mom’s been asking questions about why we don’t have kids yet, so I’ve had to explain some things. Her stomach dropped.
You’ve been discussing our private medical situation with your family. They’re concerned about me, Amanda. They can see how stressed I’ve been. stressed, Austin. I’m the one getting injected with hormones. I’m the one having procedures. I’m the one whose body is being treated like a science experiment. You’re stressed.
Do you think this has been easy for me watching you fall apart every month? Dealing with your mood swings, having my family ask me constantly when we’re going to have kids and not knowing what to tell them. You could tell them it’s none of their business. Or you could get help and figure out why your body won’t do what it’s supposed to do.
The words hung between them like a poison cloud. Austin’s face immediately showed regret, but it was too late. He’d finally said what he’d been thinking all along, that her infertility was a personal failing, something she could fix if she just tried harder. My body won’t do what it’s supposed to do, she repeated slowly.
Is that really what you think, Amanda? I didn’t mean No, you meant it. That’s exactly what you meant. She stood up, feeling something shift inside her. You think there’s something wrong with me? You think I’m defective? I think we’ve been fighting biology for 3 years, and maybe it’s time to accept that some things aren’t meant to be.
Some things like our marriage. Austin looked at her with those same eyes that used to look at her like she hung the moon. Except now they held nothing but exhaustion. Maybe. That night, Austin slept in the guest room to give them both space to think. She lay in their bed staring at the ceiling, trying to understand how she’d gone from being the love of his life to being a problem he needed space from.
The next morning, she found him in the kitchen making coffee. One cup. I think I’m going to stay at my brother’s place for a while, he said without looking at her. Just until we figure things out. How long is a while? I don’t know. a few weeks, maybe longer. She watched him pour coffee into his travel mug, the one she’d bought him for his birthday two years ago with World’s Best Future Dad written on it.
