Chapter 2

I met Mark Thompson in a community college night class.

Introduction to Business.

I was Sarah Miller then, a barista at "The Daily Grind," saving up for something more, though I wasn' t sure what.

I lived with Mrs. Peterson in a small, neat house in a quiet suburban neighborhood.

She found me at a bus station when I was a toddler.

Abandoned, she said, with nothing but the clothes I wore and a small, unique silver charm bracelet on my wrist.

She was a retired librarian, kind, with a gentle smile and a love for stories.

She raised me as her own, always wondering about my origins, encouraging me to be curious.

She was my only family.

Mark was a few years older, a project manager at a regional construction firm.

He seemed stable, ambitious, and most importantly, kind.

He' d bring me coffee at the shop, ask about my day, listen.

He talked about his family, the Thompsons. Respected in their small town.

His mother, Diane, was a force, he said with a nervous laugh.

His father was quiet, mostly in Diane' s shadow.

When he proposed, Mrs. Peterson was hesitant.

"Are you sure, dear? His mother... she seems very particular."

But I was in love, or what I thought was love.

I craved a family, a sense of belonging I never really had.

Mark' s family, with their Sunday dinners and established roots, seemed like the answer.

Diane Thompson made her opinion of me clear from the start.

"Sarah is... sweet. But no family, no connections. Mark could have done better."

She said it to my face, at our engagement party.

Before the wedding, Diane insisted on "comprehensive pre-marital health screenings."

"For family planning purposes, dear," she' d said, her smile not reaching her eyes. "We need to ensure the Thompson line continues strong."

Mark went along with it. "It' s just a precaution, Sarah. Makes Mom happy."

The results came back.

We sat in Dr. Ramirez' s office.

The doctor looked at Mark. "Mr. Thompson, the tests show you have congenital azoospermia. It means... you are infertile. There are no sperm."

Mark' s face went white.

Diane, who had insisted on being there, gasped.

"Impossible! There must be a mistake! Thompsons are virile!"

Dr. Ramirez calmly explained it was definitive.

Mark looked crushed, humiliated.

I reached for his hand.

He flinched.

Later that night, he broke down.

"My mother will never let me live this down. My whole life, it' s been about legacy, heirs."

I held him. I genuinely cared for him then.

"We can keep it a secret, Mark," I said softly. "It doesn' t change how I feel. We can explore adoption later. It will be our secret."

He clung to that. "Yes. Our secret. No one else needs to know. Especially not my mother beyond this room."

He made me promise.

I promised. I wanted to shield him, to prove my love was unconditional.

I thought our love could overcome anything.

I was young. I was naive.