I looked at him, unable to tell if he was pretending or if he was so deep into his own act that even he believed it. I just shook my head and said, "I saw a family of four today and I couldn’t help but feel a little envious."
David and I had been together since we were seventeen. Now, it’s been ten years.
In all those years, our relationship wasn’t without its regrets. My health wasn’t great and several times my period didn’t come. David would always become anxious, like a child and ask me with a hopeful face, "Rose, did we make it?"
Then, he would put everything aside and go with me to the hospital for a full check-up. When the results were disappointing, he’d hide his own sadness.
"It’s okay, we’re still young. Giving birth is painful and I don’t want you to go through that, Rose."
I saw all of David’s disappointment and it hurt me deeply. It wasn’t that I didn’t care—David had a younger brother who died while trying to save him and he had always longed for a son to carry on his brother’s legacy. I knew this about him.
That’s why I kept going to the hospital for check-ups, keeping it all from him.