HARD-WON JOY
“Mum, the only option left for us to have a child is IVF. Liam and I have made up our minds. There’s no talking us out of it—you’d better get used to the idea,” Emily said in one breath.
“IVF? So, I’ll have a grandchild conceived in a lab?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from my own daughter.
“Mum, call it what you like. We’re starting the procedures tomorrow. All the tests are done. The doctors warned us—it’ll be a long, unpredictable road. No guarantees. Please, just be patient,” she sighed heavily.
I was at a loss for words. I should have offered comfort, hope, something—but all I could do was stay silent.
Our conversation happened over the phone. I understood—face-to-face would’ve been too hard for Emily. This wasn’t an easy topic.
Her first marriage had been to her childhood sweetheart, Thomas. She’d thought their love was perfect—until the wedding day itself, when he drank too much and ended up tangled with the bridesmaid in a storage closet.
Emily filed for divorce immediately. My husband and I begged her to reconsider:
“Emily, don’t be hasty. People do foolish things when they’re drunk! That girl probably dragged him in there. He’s a good man—forgive him, love. You’ll regret this!”
But she refused. “No, Mum. I won’t regret it. If this was his true nature, better I found out now than later.”
Thomas pleaded, apologized, but Emily wouldn’t budge.
Months later, she discovered she was pregnant—his child. Quietly, without telling me, she terminated it. If I’d known, I would’ve begged her to reconsider.
Years passed before Liam, Thomas’s best friend, proposed. He’d loved Emily for ages but never dared cross his mate. Now, with the chance before him, he took it.
Emily hesitated for three years before finally accepting.
“Liam, is your proposal still open?”
“Of course, Emily! You’ll marry me?” He kissed her hand, overjoyed.
Their wedding was lavish—everyone was there except Thomas, though he sent a massive bouquet of lilies. Emily refused it and gave the flowers to a single friend.
She was twenty-eight; Liam, thirty-three. Two years passed—no children.
“Emily, do you and Liam have plans, or is it just… not happening?” I asked carefully.
“It’s not happening, Mum. I’m worried. Liam won’t talk about it—I think he blames himself. We’ll wait another year, then…” She looked away.
“Then what? Adoption?”
“Time will tell. We’ll have a baby—one way or another.”
Two more years of trying, of heartbreak—then came the decision: IVF.
I resisted. “Emily, they say these children aren’t the same—that they’re different, sickly, unnatural!”
“Mum, IVF’s been around for forty years. It works. These children are just as loved, just as real. It’s hard—the hormones, the waiting—but we’re ready. Get used to the idea of grandchildren.”
The process was grueling—physically, emotionally, financially. Three failed attempts. Emily grew depressed, gained weight from the hormones. Liam was exhausted, but he never left her side.
On the fourth try, it worked.
“I’m terrified of sneezing, coughing—what if I lose this one? I can’t go through it again,” she whispered once, wiping tears.
But she carried the baby to term. Our little Alice arrived, slightly early, as IVF babies often do.
The family was overjoyed—though Liam’s mother muttered doubts about her nose, her ears. But as Alice grew, the resemblance silenced her.
IVF children don’t happen by accident. They’re deeply wanted. Alice was cherished, protected—until one day, a nurse at the playground called her “the IVF baby” loud enough for everyone to hear.
I nearly sank through the pavement. “How dare you? That’s private!”
After that, the neighbors pestered Emily with intrusive questions. Soon, they moved across town to escape the gossip.
Alice is five now—bright, mischievous, full of laughter. She has allergies, needs speech therapy, wears glasses—but so do many children. None of it defines her.
What matters is this: after years of heartache, Emily and Liam have their daughter. And we couldn’t imagine life without her.
Some joys are hard-won—but that only makes them sweeter.
