It was the day after our discharge from the hospital—a day that should have been filled with the promise of a new beginning—that my world shattered. My husband, Jack, returned from errands, his face drained of color, eyes distant and unseeing. Instead of sharing in the wonder of our newfound family, he stood by the door, a heavy silence between us. And then, in a voice that trembled with both fear and resignation, he uttered the words I never thought I’d have to hear:
I stared down at my triplets—Sophie, Lily, and Grace—whose delicate features and tiny hands filled me with fierce, unwavering love. How could he say such a thing? How could he claim that these miracles were cursed, that they would ruin his life? The shock was unbearable. In that sterile hospital room, surrounded by the soft hum of medical equipment and the gentle murmur of nurses, my world crumbled.