My name is Elena, and I’m 30 years old this year. I once believed I would remain single for life. Three years ago, after undergoing surgery, the doctor informed me that I would never be able to have children.
That news dropped me from heaven into despair. My boyfriend of five years stayed silent the whole night, then the next day sent one short text: “I’m sorry. Let’s break up.”
From then on, I no longer dreamed of wearing a wedding dress. Until I met Rohan. He is seven years older than me, the new branch director who had taken over the company where I worked. He was refined, composed, and had eyes that always smiled.
I liked him, but still kept my distance. How could a man so perfect choose someone who couldn’t bear children like me? But he was the one who drew closer. On late nights at the office, he would bring me a warm meal. On cold mornings, he’d quietly leave a packet of ginger tea on my desk.
When he proposed, I cried. I told him the whole truth about my condition. But he only smiled softly and brushed my hair. “I know. Don’t worry.”
His family had no objections either. His mother even came to my home to ask for my hand, arranging everything with care. I thought I was dreaming, believing God had taken pity on me and granted this blessing late.
On our wedding day, I wore a white gown, arm-in-arm with him, walking toward the altar.
Tears fell when I saw his gentle eyes beneath the warm golden lights.
That night, I sat before the mirror, removing each hairpin. He entered from outside, took off his jacket, and placed it on a chair. He came behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Tired?” – he asked softly. I shook my head, my heart racing.
He took my hand and guided me to the bed. Then he lifted the blanket. I froze. On the bed was not just us. A small boy, about four years old, slept peacefully, his cheeks round, his lashes long and curled. He clutched an old teddy bear, lost in slumber.
I turned to him, stammering. “This… is…” Rohan exhaled slowly, stroking my hair. “This is my son.”
I stayed still. He sat beside the boy, his eyes full of tenderness.
“His mother… was my ex-girlfriend. Back then, her family was struggling, her mother gravely ill, and she left school to work odd jobs. When she became pregnant, she didn’t tell me. Two years after he was born, she died in an accident. That’s when I learned I had a son. For years, he lived with his grandmother. Now that she’s gone, I’ve brought him home.”
He looked deep into my eyes, voice breaking. “I’m sorry I hid this from you. But I need you. I need a mother for my son. I also want a whole family. Even if you can’t have children, if you love him, it’s enough. I can’t lose you.”
Hot tears slid down my cheeks. I sat on the bed, reaching out to smooth the child’s hair.
He shifted slightly, murmuring in his sleep: “Mom…” I broke down, my chest aching. I glanced at Rohan and saw fear in his eyes, afraid I would walk away.
But I couldn’t. I nodded gently. “Yes… from now on, you have a mother.” He held me tightly, so tightly. Outside, the moon glowed brightly, bathing the small room in silver.
I knew from that night, my life had turned a page. Perhaps I cannot be a mother by blood, but I can still be one through love. And for me, that is enough for happiness.
