I spent $30,000 trying to become a mom. But I never expected that the most difficult part wouldn’t be the journey to parenthood—it would be the silence that came after.
At 38, after years of fertility treatments and emotional ups and downs, I had to come to terms with a truth that was harder to accept than any diagnosis: I couldn’t have children biologically. My husband, Andrew, always stood by me. He never placed blame. But still, I sometimes blamed myself.
His mother, Gloria, often gave subtle reminders that she had given birth to him at 38. “You just need more faith,” she’d say with a smile. “Maybe fewer chemicals in your system.”
Andrew always tried to explain it away. “She means well. She’s just traditional.”
But I knew what she meant—and what she didn’t say out loud.
One evening, while scrolling through social media, I watched a video of a little girl hugging a woman and calling her “Mommy” for the first time. I cried. And then I asked Andrew, “What if we… adopted?”
To my surprise, he didn’t hesitate. “Let’s adopt two. So they won’t be alone.”
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