Together, we had started from nothing, carving out a future with our own hands.
Ten years ago, when the pressure to have children reached its peak, his mother had even pressed a knife to her throat, demanding we give her a grandchild.
I couldn't pretend I hadn't been shaken. The sight of her so desperate had unsettled me, and for the first time, doubt crept in.
"Do you not want children?" I had asked, my voice unsteady. "Even seeing your mother like this, are you still sure? We could have a child…"
Charles had taken my hand, his grip firm, his eyes filled with unwavering love.
"Natalie, I don't want you to suffer through childbirth. And I don't want us to bring a child into this world because of someone else's demands. Do you understand?"
I had understood. Yet, I had still told him, "If one day you want a child, just tell me directly, and we'll decide together."
And Charles had agreed without hesitation.
Seven years ago, Isaiah, his father, inexplicably stopped being angry. Even his mother, Leah, had abandoned her under relentless pressure. They had suggested moving to another city and embracing retirement. At the same time, Charles would visit from time to time to check on them.