Chapter 4: Protective Measures

Fine, I understood. It’s not easy for women in the workplace. If pregnancy and breastfeeding held her back, all her previous efforts would be wasted.

Even my own mom, who’d worked nights at the post office, used to say the world never made room for mothers—just expected them to catch up. I never wanted Natalie to feel like she had to choose. I never wanted to be the reason she fell behind.

So, facing pressure from both our families to have children, I took it all on myself. I told both sets of parents that I had a low sperm count, and having a child wouldn’t be easy. Only then did the families finally quiet down.

It was my shield. I still remember the Thanksgiving dinner when I dropped that lie—how the conversation went silent for a heartbeat, then my father-in-law just nodded, all stoic and tight-lipped. It was easier to shoulder the blame myself than let Natalie feel cornered by their questions and glances.

Since we weren’t planning on having kids yet, I always took precautions during sex, afraid Natalie might accidentally get pregnant and jeopardize her job.

I was meticulous—condoms, counting cycles, double-checking everything. Sometimes, I’d tease her about my over-cautiousness, and she’d just laugh, a little exasperated. I never thought I’d regret being so careful.

So I’m certain: she couldn’t have gotten pregnant by me.

It was as clear as daylight in my mind. No missed steps, no carelessness. My chest tightened, a sickening certainty creeping in that there was only one explanation left.