Rebecca helped me find a reproductive endocrinologist in Boston.
For the first time, I met a doctor who looked at my entire medical history instead of assuming I was the problem.
The doctor reviewed my previous tests.
Then she looked at me.
“You were treated repeatedly for a problem that may not have been yours.”
I began crying.
Not because I was broken.
Because someone finally said the words I had needed to hear for years.
We repeated the tests.
My ovarian reserve was lower than it had been six years earlier, but I still had viable eggs.
The doctor explained our options carefully.
There were no guarantees.
No miracles.
No promises.
Only science, patience, and a little hope.
I decided to try one final IVF cycle.
Not for Julian.
Not to prove anything.
For myself.
Garrison never pressured me.
When I traveled to Boston, he simply said:
“Whatever happens, you don’t owe anyone a child.”
I never forgot those words.
Chapter Six: Two Heartbeats
Six months after Julian left me, I sat inside an examination room staring at an ultrasound screen.
The doctor smiled.
“I see two.”
I thought I had misunderstood her.
“Two?”
She nodded.
“Two embryos implanted successfully.”
I covered my mouth.
Twins.
I was pregnant with twins.
I cried so hard that the nurse brought me tissues.
When I called Garrison, I couldn’t speak.
He immediately knew something had happened.
“Are you okay?”
I laughed through my tears.
“There’s two.”
There was a long silence.
Then I heard him exhale.
“Two?”
“Two.”
He laughed.
It was the first time I had ever heard him laugh.
