Another family party, this time celebrating my 36th birthday. It’s a sunny day and the children will have a wonderful time playing in the warm weather, well all except for our newborn, Layla, that is. She much prefers the shade. It is June 9th and I, Ellie Cordell, am entering the second half of my thirties. God, when did I get this old? Does the general population consider this old? I’m not really sure how to feel. My husband, David, is driving us to my parent’s home where my dad will no doubt be wearing his “Don’t kiss the cook, I’m happily married” apron. My brother, Nick, is on the way with his wife and two children as well. I know their kids can’t wait to meet Layla.
Meanwhile, as Ellie’s mother and father prepared for the arrival of their children and grandchildren, they were in their master bedroom having an argument. The same argument they have had on repeat for many years. Ellie’s mother, Margaret, held the adoption papers in her hand, begging her husband, Stephen, to let her reveal the truth. The truth was that when they were first married they moved far far away from their families, to which they had never been particularly close. Growing up they had both felt quite different from their families and lonely in their upbringing. They vowed to each other their need to prevent another child from experiencing such loneliness. Eventually the perfect pregnant single mother came along, she even looked as though she could have been born of Stephen and Margaret. She couldn’t keep the baby for one reason or another, and Margaret was filled with joy to love the baby for the rest of its life. When they received the news the baby boy was waiting for them at the hospital, tears filled Margaret’s eyes and Stephen immediately grabbed his keys. They named him Nick, swiftly completed the adoption legalities, and never wanting him to experience loneliness they once had, decided not to reveal the adoption during his childhood. Then they became pregnant with Ellie shortly after and it somehow felt unfair to tell him the truth of where he came from. They loved him as their own anyways, but now he was an adult and Margaret felt he could appreciate the love they bestowed on him in place of the family who could not keep him.
Stephen was once again winning the argument stating, “there is no need to turn our family’s world upside down,” slamming the door behind him as he left the room. Exasperated, Margaret sat on the bed with her head in her hands. Hoping to resume the discussion before the children arrived, she shoved the papers in the pocket of her coat hanging in their closet and also left the room.
We arrived to my parents house and David grabbed the hands of the older children to walk them to the backyard as I carried Layla. We reached the backyard, and there stood my dad grilling with his infamous apron. My brother and his wife had arrived also, all of the children were so happy together. It reminded me of the summer days I spent here with my brother, playing until mom called us in for dinner. My reminiscing was quickly interrupted by Layla, crying to be breastfed. Mom ushered us upstairs for some privacy.
We snuggled onto their bed. Layla seemed quite content, she was so sweet from this angle. Until of course she wasn’t, she had slipped off my breast and spit up at the same time. In a frenzy I picked her up and began searching for something to wipe the mess. I noticed the closet door open with my mother’s jacket resting on it’s hanger, hoping she may have some napkins in her pocket. Blindly, I reached in and pulled out the contents. Realizing it was folded up papers, I quickly tossed it aside and jogged to the bathroom. After getting cleaned up, Layla was ready to rest. Laying on the bed with her, I remembered the papers as she drifted off to sleep. I grabbed them from the end of the bed, nosily I unfolded them.
My draw dropped as I felt my whole life shifting. Or rather, my brother’s life. How could this be? We were practically identical twins! I pondered what to do with this new information, scooping up Layla and holding her close. We rejoined the family with the papers still strewn across the bed.
In Samantha’s opinion, she couldn’t help how she felt. They had been married young, too young, before his drinking had really picked up and before she had known how unengaged he would become in their marriage. His eyes were so empty when he looked at her. Remembering those first couple of years when they had moved into together was overwhelming, the unhappiness and entrapment she felt. Nobody in her family had been divorced before and how could she be the first after only two years of marriage? She was not a quitter, however, it had been five years now of this gnawing ache for something else. They still had no children and she had lost both of her parents within that time, so there was no need to consider anyone’s feelings but her own. It was time for her to leave or for him to make a drastic change.
When her husband returned from his nine to five desk job, she presented him with what she thought would be the end of their marriage. She said, “Tyler, I cannot go on this way. We either need to start marriage counseling or we need to get a divorce.” And to her utter surprise, he opted for counseling. The appointment was made for two weeks from now at three o’clock. Within those two weeks, Tyler carried on as normal - being unreachable during the workday, stopping at the bar every night before making his way home. Samantha doubted the counseling would change a damn thing about him.
The time passed and the day of their first appointment arrived. Tyler was thoughtful in his responses and involved in the conversation. It was almost as if he was excited to turn into the man Samantha had hoped he would have been. They continued counseling over the next three months, and while their intimacy remained stagnant, their conversations around the home improved. Their relationship seemed lighter, he only stopped at the bar a couple times during the week. He even began to tidy up around the house. Samantha appreciated this help so much, she didn’t even mind when she couldn’t find what she was looking for. Like where had their suitcases gone? She also noticed the laundry seemed lighter these days, Tyler must have been helping with that too she thought! She praised the marriage counseling to her friends on their afternoon phone calls.
Their life continued happy in this way over those three months. Samantha expressed her returning joy in their marriage over dinner one night, Tyler’s favorite roast that she had spent the entire day perfecting. Tyler expressed his appreciation of all the lessons the marriage counselor had taught them. Samantha admitted she was taking the possibility of divorce off of the table. Tyler’s entire face contorted, “Samantha, I appreciate these lessons because I have been able to apply them in another relationship.” Immediate confusion spread over Samantha, as Tyler proceeded to pass divorce papers across the table. “I wasn’t sure I could ever be a good husband, but these sessions have given me the confidence to move forward with the one I truly love. I have been having an affair, Samantha,” Tyler admitted. “You must have noticed I already started moving things out.”
Samantha was at a loss for words.
How many times have we been here before? Struggling, pretending, breaking, and coming back together. No matter how many rounds of IVF, planning, and performing we end up in this same heartbreak. Maybe if I was different? Maybe if he was different?
The struggle remains.
I have always wished for a family. Dreamt of warm winters watching movies by the fire, cool summer spent by the lake watching the children swim. Of Christmases full of love and joy, where each year I would recognize how much the children have grown and reflect on the memories made.
Yet, here we are.
Perhaps fate is stronger than science, as though this has always been my destiny. Our love was once worthy of a baby, but as the heartbreaks continue I can tell it is bending. I can tell it is wavering, and I can’t help but wonder.. maybe if I was different? Maybe if he was different?
The struggle remains.
