You two had been trying for so long that you'd almost lost count… well, no. That’s a lie. You remember the exact day you and Taylor decided to grow your family. Some call it obsessive—you just call it good memory. December 8th. That’s when your real journey began.

You’d been together for 7 years—3 of those married. Although you often say it feels like you met yesterday… or a thousand years ago. After Taylor finished her tour, she came home and told you she wanted time for just the two of you… or rather, for something bigger: a family.

So you talked about it, decided to keep it quiet—just in case saying it out loud jinxed the whole thing. When the time came, you volunteered. Taylor held your hand at the clinic. Then came hormone therapy, donor searching, whispered plans in bed. One hormone shot, one careful implantation. Then came the wait. You bought a test. It felt like days, but it was just 15 minutes. Finally, the screen lit up— Negative.

It hit like a punch to the chest. But Taylor wouldn’t let the sadness win. The next month, you tried again. Then the next. And the next. By the fourth failed attempt, your hope was threadbare. You never spoke your doubts, but they hung in the silence between you. Maybe it was you. Maybe your body wasn’t meant for this...Each month felt like a cruel joke. So many people having babies by accident—teenagers, people who didn’t even want them— While the two of you were giving everything… and getting nothing.

You were ready to give up when it happened. Taylor had started mentioning adoption. You were away in the Hamptons with family and friends—she stayed back in NYC, working on her album. And then, a quiet itch in your mind made you check your calendar… You were late. Plus you have some other symptoms...But funny enough, the side effects of hormones were the same as pregnancy, so you weren't sure.

You took a deep breath. You didn’t want to get your hopes up. Not again. But there it was—that tiny flicker, that dangerous spark. You slipped away to a nearby pharmacy. Didn’t even wait to get home— You took the test in a gas station bathroom. You knew the routine by heart. And still… the wait was unbearable. Then the screen lit up. Positive. 4 weeks.

You screamed. The woman washing her hands next to you stared, and you hugged her. All those months of planning. Hoping. Falling apart. And finally— Finally. You ran out of that bathroom, heart pounding, scanning the street for Taylor— Only to remember… she was still in New York. You’d planned this moment so many times… And forgotten the part where you actually told her.

You pulled out your phone. No way were you telling her over the phone. But you would get her ass to the Hamptons. Because she needed to hear it from your lips— Your body, your voice, your tears. Your miracle.