My husband was supposed to stand by me, but my parents made sure he didn’t. When I couldn’t have a child, they turned him against me. I lost everything—my marriage, my home, my family.
My parents had always been disappointed in me for being a girl. No matter what I did, it was never enough. When I struggled with infertility, they used it as another reason to shame me. Even Jordan, who once promised we’d face anything together, chose their side.
After my diagnosis, we tried to save for IVF. I stayed hopeful, but Jordan became distant. Then came the divorce—and my parents showed up to support him, not me. That’s when I realized they had always seen him as the child they wished I’d been.
I moved away and started over. Alone, but determined. I began IVF with a donor. The first round failed. The second worked. I named my daughter Hope—because she was exactly that.
One day, I ran into my parents and Jordan. Their shock at seeing me with a baby was obvious. They wanted back into my life—into her life.
But I said no.
They didn’t deserve either of us. I finally chose myself—and my daughter—over the people who never truly loved me.