I know how this sounds. I really do. But before anyone comes at me, let me explain.
Adonis and I have been together for almost four years. We’ve lived together for two. He’s smart, funny, doesn’t cheat, and actually folds his laundry without being told. But when it comes to kids? He shuts down. Says he’s not ready, that he “needs more time,” like he’s got some countdown clock only he can see.
I’m 32. I’ve been off birth control since last October.
At first, I thought I’d tell him after a month or two—just ease into the convo. But he was so stressed about work, then his mom got sick, and then… it just never felt like the right moment. Eventually, it turned into a choice. One I don’t regret.
We’re not using condoms either. Haven’t for a while. He just assumes I’m still on the pill. I even fake taking it when he’s in the room—little pink mints I bought online. Ridiculous, I know.
But here’s the thing: I do want a baby. I’m ready. More than ready. And I’m done waiting for his “perfect timing” that never comes.
Last week, I took a test while he was at the gym. Positive. Two pink lines. I sat there on the bathroom floor, staring at it like it was a lottery ticket.
He came home all sweaty and smiling, dropped a protein bar in my lap, kissed my forehead, and went to shower.
I haven’t told him yet. I don’t know how I’m going to. I keep thinking he might actually be happy once it’s real. Once there’s a little heartbeat and tiny feet and a future he can see.
But tonight, he found the empty test box in the trash.
The bathroom door creaked open, and Adonis stood there, the empty cardboard in his hand. His face was a mask of confusion, then something that looked a lot like hurt.
“What’s this?” he asked, his voice quiet.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew this moment was coming, but I still felt a wave of panic wash over me. I took a deep breath, trying to appear calmer than I felt.
“It’s a pregnancy test,” I said, stating the obvious.
His eyebrows furrowed. “I know that. But… why?”
I hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because… I thought I might be pregnant.”
“Might be? Elara, this box is for a positive result.” His voice was still quiet, but there was an edge to it now.
I nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. It was positive.”
The silence that followed felt like an eternity. I could hear the water running in the shower, a mundane sound that amplified the tension in the small bathroom. Finally, Adonis turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine.
“You’re pregnant?” he asked, the words barely a whisper.
I nodded again, still unable to meet his gaze.
He sat down on the edge of the bathtub, the towel hanging loosely around his hips. He ran a hand through his wet hair, his expression unreadable.
“And you didn’t tell me?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
I finally looked at him. “I was going to,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I just… I didn’t know how.”
“How?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Elara, this is huge. This is something we should have talked about together.”
“I know that,” I said, my own voice getting louder. “But you’ve been so adamant about not wanting kids, about needing more time. I was scared.”
“Scared?” He stood up, pacing the small bathroom. “Scared of what? Of me being upset? Of me not being ready?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, tears welling up in my eyes. “Both! You always shut down whenever I bring up the topic of kids. I felt like I had no other choice.”
He stopped pacing and stared at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and anger. “So, you decided to lie to me? To manipulate me into this?”
“Manipulate you?” I scoffed. “I love you, Adonis. And I want to have a family with you. Is that so wrong?”
“No, wanting a family isn’t wrong,” he said, his voice softer now. “But lying to me is. Going behind my back like this… it feels like a betrayal.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t thought of it as a betrayal. I had thought of it as taking control of my own future, of giving us the family I knew we could have. But seeing the hurt in his eyes, I started to question my actions.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I never meant to hurt you.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “I don’t understand, Elara. Why didn’t you just talk to me? Really talk to me?”
“I tried!” I cried. “So many times. But you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t even consider it.”
We stood there in the tense silence, the weight of my lie hanging heavy between us. I knew I had made a mistake, a big one. But I also knew that my desire for a child was real, and it wasn’t going to go away.
The twist came a few days later. After several long, painful conversations, after a lot of tears and soul-searching, Adonis surprised me. He had been doing some thinking of his own, he said. Thinking about his fears, about his resistance to the idea of having kids.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice hesitant, “maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was letting my own insecurities get in the way of something really beautiful.”
He admitted that his fear wasn’t about not loving a child, but about not being a good father. He worried about the financial burden, the lack of sleep, the responsibility. But he also realized that those fears were just that – fears. And that the possibility of having a family with me was something he didn’t want to lose.
He wasn’t thrilled about the way I had gone about it, and he made it clear that trust had been broken. But he also said that he was willing to work through it, to be a part of this pregnancy, to face his fears and embrace the future.
The rewarding conclusion wasn’t the fairytale ending I had initially envisioned. It was messy, complicated, and required a lot of hard work. We went to therapy together to address the issues of communication and trust in our relationship. We talked endlessly about our hopes and fears about parenthood.
Adonis didn’t magically transform into someone who was ecstatic about having a baby. But he leaned in. He went to doctor’s appointments with me, read books about pregnancy and fatherhood, and even started talking about nursery colors.
The twist was that my lie, while damaging, ultimately forced us to confront issues that we had been avoiding for too long. It pushed Adonis to examine his own reservations and it forced me to be more honest and vulnerable in expressing my desires.
Our relationship was tested, but it didn’t break. In fact, in some ways, it became stronger, built on a foundation of shaky honesty and a shared commitment to making things work.
The life lesson here is that sometimes, even when we think we’re acting in our own best interest, our choices can have unintended consequences. Honesty, even when it’s scary, is almost always the better path. But even when mistakes are made, forgiveness and growth are possible, especially when love and commitment are involved.
And sometimes, the things we fear the most are the very things that can bring us the greatest joy, if we’re willing to face them together.
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