I lay in my hospital bed, exhausted but filled with joy as I cradled my newborn twin daughters. After years of battling infertility and enduring a tough pregnancy, this was the moment I had longed for. I was eager to share the happiness with my husband, Mark, and imagined he’d be just as thrilled as I was.
But when Mark finally walked in, his expression was distant and cold. Instead of happiness, his reaction was full of disgust and bitterness. He accused me of deceiving him and made it clear he had only ever wanted sons to carry on his family name — words that struck deeper than any wound I’d ever known.
