I couldn't stand watching him struggle alone, and since our little one was such an easy baby, I hustled right alongside him, day and night.
Even five months pregnant, I was still running around on-site.
Due to Ryan's radical shake-up at work, long-time employees staged a protest, and I ended up right in the middle. A shove down the stairs, and just like that, I lost the baby.
That fall nearly killed me. I spent a month in the hospital, and it did a number on me.
Once home, I found myself trapped in grief, nights spent holding the baby's clothes, crying until I couldn't anymore.
Ryan held me through countless nights.
Eventually, he suggested we might be better off not having kids at all, thinking it might spare me further pain—I agreed.
As years passed, his business stabilized, my health got back on track, and both our parents started nagging us about a baby.
I'd be lying if I said I hadn't reconsidered.
Someone once warned him, "If you wait any longer, your wife will be too old to have kids!"
Ryan clapped back, "I'm the one who doesn't want kids. Plus, I've got a medical condition. I can't have kids, period."
That shut me down, and I figured, maybe we could just keep going as we were.