I had no idea that my greatest heartbreak would come from the man who had promised to love me regardless of whether I ever gave birth.
For six years, I had watched women who married after me carry their babies into church. I had attended naming ceremonies with gifts in my hands and tears hidden behind my smile. I had endured questions from relatives who seemed to believe that my womb was a public matter.
Every month, I bought a pregnancy test.
Every month, I locked myself in the bathroom, prayed with all my heart, and waited for two lines to appear.
And every month, I watched my hopes disappear.
Kelly used to hold me during those difficult moments.
“Don’t cry, Ella,” he would say, wiping my cheeks. “You are enough for me. One day, we will have our own child.”
Those words had kept me going.
But lately, the man who once comforted me had become impatient, distant, and cruel. He returned home late, guarded his phone, and complained whenever I asked where he had been.
