My wife and I have been together for the last 35 years. We married young and had our daughter around 10 years later.
I still remember the day she had to be taken to the hospital. I was at work when her water broke, but instead of calling and demanding I get there as soon as possible, she told me that it was best I wait and that she was doing completely fine.
I told her she was crazy if she thought I wasn’t gonna be there for the birth of my child, but she started screaming at me to stay where I was. I just chalked it up to birth hormones.
I finished out the day, and as soon as I clocked out, I was flying to the hospital.
It was a venture that proved fruitless, as when I arrived, my wife was nowhere to be found. And in the chaos of the busy hospital, my panic grew more and more until my pager started beeping.
It was my wife’s number, and in a confused hurry, I found the nearest phone to take her call.
She was already home, asking me where I had been.
After a little back and forth about the sheer audacity of that statement, I got in my car and drove home as quickly as I could.
When I got there, I found her curled up in her chair in the living room, cradling our baby and looking both exhausted and completely drained.
Under normal circumstances, this should’ve been one of the happiest moments of my life. But, really, all I felt was confusion.
Why? Because we were scheduled to have a baby boy for her entire pregnancy. That’s what the doctors kept telling us.
Her explanation was that there had been some kind of mistake with the paperwork. Pretty expensive mistake, I guess, because we had spent hundreds on clothes and toys for a boy.
I still allowed myself to feel happy. I mean, I was a new father. I’d waited 9 months for this moment. I wasn’t gonna let some paperwork issue rain on my parade. Besides, her mom seemed in no mood to argue.
I spent the entire first night back home curled up in bed with my wife and our baby girl. I soothed them to sleep in each other’s arms. I rubbed my wife’s back. I held the baby when she cried. It was the start of our new life.
From that moment on, I worked my ass off to give them a decent life. Kept food on the table, kept the lights on in the house. I’d even save up every month for big gifts like jewelry and swing sets.
Watching my daughter grow up was one of the most magical experiences of my life. Watching her go from her first steps to her first day of school. Seeing her grow into a blossoming young woman and eventually walking across the stage for her high school graduation.
It was weird, though. Nobody ever said we looked alike. Nobody ever said she and her mom even looked alike. And, if I’m being honest, I thought the same thing, but it didn’t change how I loved her.
But, unfortunately, every fairy tale must come to an end, and ours ended with her mom being diagnosed with cancer. Those were some of the most difficult years of my life. Watching the woman I love lose her appetite. Lose her hair. Lose her life. It broke something within me.
I was by her side every day, right there with my daughter.
However, on the day we lost her, my daughter had been in class at the state university a hundred miles away, and I was all alone, watching the world crumble before my very eyes.
In those last moments, she looked at me with the same love she had back when we first met. Only this time, it was more reminiscent. More sad. Like she was realizing that everything was coming to an end.
And that’s when her face changed.
Her smile faded.
Her forehead creased.
She started sobbing.
The words she spoke next are what have sent me over the edge. I’ve been questioning our relationship, our life, and everything in between ever since. I want to say I was lost, but, truthfully, it made everything make sense.
Because according to my wife:
Our son died at birth after some complications.
I guess something snapped in her mind when she was told that her baby didn’t make it.
Instead of accepting, she rejected.
My daughter was stolen.
And I still haven’t found the heart to tell her.
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