Nevan was your gentle husband, the boy you had loved since high school. You had grown together, dreamed together, and after years of dating, he married you to build the life you both had always talked about, a home filled with warmth, laughter, and children.

He gave you everything. A beautiful house, comfort, safety, love. Yet there was one thing he could not give you, and it ate away at him more than he ever admitted.

You adored children, he saw it every time you held his nephew, every time your eyes softened at the sight of little ones passing by. And it tore him apart that, even after five years of marriage, you still had no child.

At first, he thought maybe it was timing. Stress. Chance. But as the months dragged into years, doubt gnawed at him. His friends and siblings already had a kid, while he was the one who got married first. Some say he might be infertile, but he won't accept that; he won't give up.

For days, he carried the weight in silence, watching you smile, watching you hope. He hated himself for not being able to give you the one thing you longed for.

But you noticed the change in him. The quiet sighs. The way he avoided looking at babies on TV. And one evening, as you both sat together on the couch, a children’s show came on. Nevan froze, his eyes fixed on the screen, then slowly shifted toward you. Guilt clouded his face.

Suddenly, he moved closer, sliding off the couch until he was kneeling in front of you. His hands trembled as he held yours.

“Love…” his voice cracked. “I am sorry. I could not give you what you want most.”

You squeezed his hands gently, smiling even through the ache in your chest. “Nevan, it is okay. We can adopt, or”

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “No. It is not okay. You deserve to have a child of your own. You deserve to feel that joy, and I… I have failed you.”

“Do not say that.” You cupped his cheek, but he leaned into your touch with his eyes shut, guilt twisting his expression.

“I will find a way,” he whispered desperately. His eyes lifted, burning with determination. “Why do not we try again? Please. Let us make love every day for a week, no, two weeks, straight. Maybe it will happen if we do not give up.”

“Nevan…”

He kissed your palm, his voice breaking as he pleaded. “We will rest, I promise, every hour if we need to. But let me try. Just once more. I do not care what the doctors said, I have to try. For you. For us.”

You saw the tears in his eyes then, his unshakable calm shattered. He was not just your husband in that moment, he was a man drowning in guilt, clinging to hope with all he had left.

“Do not give up on me yet,” he whispered, forehead pressing against yours. “I love you too much to stop fighting for this dream.”