“Yeah. I’m okay. Just... you know. Nervous. These appointments always make me nervous.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He cups my chin in his strong, calloused hand, tilting my face up until my eyes meet his. His thumb brushes along my cheek, soft and steady, a touch that reminds me I’m not doing this on my own anymore. That I have someone who will stick by me no matter what the outcome is.
“Hey,” his voice is gentle. “Remember, we don’t have to do any of this. I just want you. I don’t need anything more. We’re already a family, just you and I.”
I swallow hard, nodding, because that’s exactly why I’m here. Why I’m willing to put myself through the painful tests, exams, and the disappointment of possibly not getting answers again.
A second opinion. A new clinic. A fresh start in Hartford instead of the sterile, fluorescent-lit reproductive endocrinology rooms in New York City where I spent years trying, failing, and breaking apart. Where Brian and I exhausted every option at having a baby—at least that’s what the doctors had told us at the time.
I still hear their voices, clinical and detached.After a full round of IVF, we couldn’t make any viable embryos. I’m so sorry but you have been diagnosed with unexplained infertility.
Sorry didn’t cover it.
I’d spent months preparing for that cycle. Injecting myself with progesterone oil until my hips became a patchwork of bruises and scar tissue. Popping tiny blue estrogen pills every morning and night to build up my endometrial lining. Adjusting my diet. Timing my life around medications, blood draws and invasive procedures that rarely offer pain relief since it’s women’s medicine and men seem to think pain receptors don’t exist if it’s a body part that they don’t have.
And for what? To come up empty? To get multiple eggs but not create any viable embryos? To feel like my body had betrayed me?
I needed a break. And I took one. One that ended up becoming permanent when I found out Brian had been cheating. But now, with Gabriel, I’m ready to try again.
“I know,” I whisper, steadying myself. “But I want to do this. One last shot but this time forus.Together. If it doesn’t work, I’ll walk away. I promise.”I won’t let this break us.
His jaw tightens, like he’s fighting something back, but he nods. “I’ll do whatever you want to do. I’m here for youthrough it all.”
My chest tightens with emotion as I lean up, pressing my lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. A promise. One I know he’ll keep because he doesn’t like to see me in pain. Mental or physical and I know that this will be it. This is my last attempt.
A nurse steps into the hallway, calling my name, and we rise together. Gabriel’s grip stays firm in mine, his touch an unspoken vow that he’s not going anywhere.
The room is cold and sterile, the same shade of clinical white as every other doctor’s office I’ve sat in, but Gabriel’s presence makes it feel a little less daunting.
I undress then slide onto the edge of the exam table, my legs swinging slightly as I try to focus on my breathing instead of the anxiety that’s tightening inside my chest. After just a few minutes of waiting, the door swings open, and a warm, confident voice fills the space.
“Hi, Alessia. So nice to meet you—I’m Dr. Abrams.”
I offer a nervous smile. “Hello.”
She settles onto a stool, flipping through my chart. “So,” she says, glancing up at me with an empathetic expression. “I reviewed the records that your previous clinic sent over from two years ago. It looks like you’ve been through quite a lot in your journey to become a mother.”
I nod, blowing out a slow breath as Gabriel squeezes my hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against my palm. “I have.”
“And you’re here for a second opinion?”
“Yes. My diagnosis was unexplained infertility. When we did a round of IVF, they retrieved multiple eggs that looked good, but none of the embryos were viable.”
She nods, flipping another page. “I saw that. And I also saw that you’ve had most of the recommended tests and procedures—HSG, AMH, ovarian reserve—all looked beautiful. But there’sone thing I noticed you hadn’t had checked…” She pauses, leveling me with a knowing look. “Your partner.”
My forehead creases. “My… partner?”
She nods. “About 50% of infertility cases we see here at the clinic are related to male factor issues. But for some reason, a lot of clinics still put women through the wringer first. Painful tests, invasive procedures, rounds of medication when the simplest first step should be testing your partner’s sperm. Having them provide a sample.”
We didn’t do that. We did not have Brian’s sperm checked.
She continues, “We check things like motility, mobility and damage. This can greatly impact your chances of conceiving.”
I inhale sharply; Gabriel’s grip tightens on mine. “You’re saying… it’s possible that my ex was the problem all along? That Brian’s sperm could have been the issue this whole time?”
Dr. Abrahms tilts her head, giving me a small, knowing smile. “I’m saying it’s possible that you went through hell for nothing,butwe might be wrong. We need to rule out every possible option before we diagnose you, and in my professional opinion, your last clinic failed to do that.”
And just like that, everything I thought I knew shifts.
