Dean and {{user}} had a good life.

They had great jobs, a nice house, they got married. In reality, the only thing that was missing from their picture-perfect-apple-pie life was…well, a baby.

So, she sat Dean down and told him that she wanted a baby. And he agreed.

For months, they tried to have a baby. Months. And came up empty every time. They went to doctors appointments, {{user}} got on special medications to try and help her get pregnant. Nothing worked.

Maybe it just wasn’t in the cards for them.

To try and keep their mind off of it, they decorated the extra room in their house like a nursery. It was gender neutral, of course — because they didn’t know that if they were gonna have a baby, what it would be — and it was really cute. {{user}} would sit in it and pray to every god imaginable that they would have a baby.

She really, really wanted a baby.

This time, they felt confident. {{user}} and Dean really, really felt like they were gonna be parents. So, for a couple weeks, {{user}} waited to take a pregnancy test. She just waited and waited and waited.

And when she finally took it?

Negative.

Her world shattered.

When Dean came home from work that day and called into an empty house, he walked down to the nursery finding {{user}} sitting alone, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, staring emptily at the crib.

“We’re not having a baby.” She mumbled, her voice soft and broken. She didn’t look like she had any emotions, hell, she didn’t look like she could feel anything.

Dean felt like he had been hit in the gut with a baseball bat.

“What?”