The irony was devastating. Austin, can I ask you something?” He nodded, still not making eye contact. “If I could get pregnant tomorrow, would you still want this break?” For the first time in months, Austin looked directly at her. And in that moment, she saw the truth he’d been hiding. If she could give him a baby, none of their other problems would matter.
If she could be the mother to his children, he’d put up with anything else. But since she couldn’t do the one thing he’d married her for, everything else about her had become insufficient. I don’t know, he said quietly. But she knew, and for the first time in 3 years, she was grateful she couldn’t give this man a child.
Austin moved out on a Tuesday. He took his clothes, his electronics, and his coffee maker. Leaving behind 3 years of marriage like it was a rental property he decided not to renew. For the first week, she convinced herself this was temporary. He needed space. He was processing. He’d come back once he realized what he was throwing away.
She deep cleaned the house, cooked his favorite meals, and froze them for when he returned. She even bought new sheets for their bed because she thought maybe a fresh start was what they needed. He called on day eight. “How are you holding up?” he asked, and for a second, his voice held that gentle tone she remembered from when they first met.
“I miss you,” she said, gripping the phone like a lifeline. “The house feels so empty without you.” “I miss you, too,” he said, and her heart lifted. “But Amanda, I think this space is good for us. I’m sleeping better, thinking clearer. I think you should consider what this time apart is showing you, too.
What it was showing her was that she couldn’t function without him. She’d built her entire adult identity around being Austin’s wife, Austin’s future baby mama, Austin’s other half. Without him, she didn’t know who she was supposed to be. I’ve been thinking about what you said, she told him about taking a break from trying to get pregnant.
Maybe you’re right. Maybe we got so focused on having a baby that we forgot how to just be married. Yeah, Austin said, but something in his voice sounded distant. Maybe we did. So, when are you coming home? We could start over. Do things differently. There was a long pause. Amanda, I don’t think I’m ready to come home yet.
How much more time do you need? I don’t know. I’m still figuring things out. What things, Austin? We’ve been married for 3 years. What is there to figure out? Another pause. Whether this marriage is something I want to keep fighting for? The words hit her like a physical blow. Fighting for? Is that what I am to you now? Something you have to fight for instead of something you want? That’s not what I meant.
Then what did you mean? I meant that maybe we’ve been trying so hard to make this work that we haven’t stopped to ask if it should work. She felt something inside her starting to panic. Austin, I love you. You love me. That’s enough. Everything else we can figure out. Is it enough though? Because I’ve been thinking about what love is supposed to feel like.
And I’m not sure what we have qualifies anymore. What we have qualifies Austin. We made vows to each other in sickness and in health for better or worse. This is the worst part. This is when we’re supposed to fight harder, not give up. Maybe, Austin said quietly. But I’m tired of fighting. That phone call lasted 2 hours with her begging and bargaining and promising to be different, better, easier.
Austin listened with what felt like patience, but was probably just politeness. By the end, she’d agreed to give him more time, more space, whatever he needed. 3 weeks into their separation, Austin’s mom called her. Amanda, my dear, I wanted to check on you. Austin told us about your temporary separation. Temporary.
At least that’s what he was calling it. I’m okay, Mrs. Adabio. Just giving Austin the space he needs to work through things. Well, I want you to know that his father and I are praying for you both. Marriage is hard work, especially when you’re dealing with fertility challenges. She felt her throat tighten. Thank you. That means a lot.
