Hope
Ashlyn
We woke up early that morning. The house was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Marco sat in silence while Fe, one of our househelpers carefully laid out our breakfast on the table, just eggs and bread, simple and ordinary. But I couldn’t bring myself to eat. My stomach already felt heavy, not from hunger, but from fear.
Today was the day of the tests. The day that could either break me or give me a reason to hope again. My heart was restless with questions: What if it’s really impossible? What if there’s truly no chance left for us?
Marco had told me more than once that we were only “trying,” that we shouldn’t set our hopes too high. That was who he was, practical, realistic, always keeping a piece of himself guarded, prepared for the worst outcome.
And yet, no matter how many times I tried to mirror his calm, my chest felt tighter with every passing minute. Because deep inside me, a fragile voice whispered the truth I couldn’t ignore: I want this. I want a child. Even just one.
Sometimes I wondered if it was only me who longed this much, if Marco only agreed for my sake. But then I’d remind myself, wasn’t it natural for a woman to dream of becoming a mother?
We finished our meal in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but a heavy one, filled with words unsaid but deeply felt. Afterward, we rested in the living room for a while, both of us simply sitting there, listening to the faint rhythms of the morning.
Before leaving, we called Rere and Ana to remind them to watch over Asher and Maya. I repeated my instructions about not letting the kids play outside while it was still hot, and Marco chuckled at my fussiness.
“Sweet, Ana’s got it covered. Relax, okay?” he teased, giving me that half-smile that usually made me roll my eyes.
I smiled back, but the knot in my chest didn’t ease. It was there, stubborn, no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
The drive to the hospital was quiet. I kept my gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside, the streams of people, cars heading to different destinations. Everyone seemed so certain of where they were going. I, on the other hand, felt like Marco and I were drifting into the unknown.
Marco, of course, broke the silence. He was never comfortable with it.
“Remember what Asher said last night?” he asked suddenly, catching me off guard.
I turned to him. “Which part?”
“That he loves our baby,” Marco said with a small grin. “He’s such a big brother to Maya. Makes me happy knowing our kids will always have each other’s backs.”
I laughed softly despite the lump in my throat. His words had a way of loosening the tight knots in me.
“I can already imagine him being overjoyed if he gets another sibling. Especially if it’s a baby brother,” Marco continued, his eyes glinting. Then he gave me a playful smirk. “How about you? What do you prefer?”
“A baby brother?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Why not? If the baby comes from you, I’d gladly start a whole basketball team.”
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. That was one of the things I loved about him—his ability to make everything lighter, even in moments when the world seemed unbearably heavy. He never let me drown in my insecurities about not conceiving yet. To him, it was never my failure as a wife or as a woman.
Before I knew it, we were already pulling into the hospital’s parking lot. My chest tightened all over again.
Marco noticed. He always did. “You okay? Feeling any lighter?” His eyes studied me carefully, as if trying to read every unspoken thought.
I looked at him and felt the heat rise to my throat. He wasn’t just playful, he was attentive. His questions weren’t just questions. They were his way of anchoring me.
“Thank you, Marco,” I whispered. “I can really feel your support.”
He gave me the smile I loved most, the one that always seemed to say, Whatever happens, you won’t face it alone.
“Always, love. For you, for our family.”
My eyes stung, and I quickly brushed away a tear. “Let’s go,” I said, forcing a steady smile. “We can do this.”
Hand in hand, we walked toward the diagnostic floor, ready or not.
The air inside the lab was sterile and filled with the faint rustle of papers, the beeping of machines, and the low murmur of nurses exchanging instructions. Marco stayed close, his arm draped protectively over my shoulders.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“No,” I admitted with a shaky smile. “But I have to be.”
He stayed by my side as the nurse inserted the needle and drew blood for tests—FSH, LH, estradiol, TSH, AMH. Each vial filled with my blood felt like a vial filled with questions about my future.
I’m still young, they said. It should be easy for me. But why did it feel like I was different? Why did hope feel like such a fragile thing in my hands?
Afterward, we were instructed to proceed with an ultrasound. Marco waited outside as I went in for the transvaginal scan. It was uncomfortable, awkward, but necessary.
“Your uterus looks healthy, ma’am, and your antral follicle count is good,” the technician said reassuringly. “Your OB-GYN will explain further, but what I see here is promising.”
I exhaled, relief coursing through me. Marco was waiting just outside the room when I stepped out.
“Good news?” he asked quickly.
“Good so far,” I answered, unable to hide my small smile.
It took a week before we finally received all the results and returned to Dra. Feliciano’s clinic.
“Let’s start with the good news,” the doctor said warmly, flipping through the papers. “Ashlyn, your hormone levels are within normal range. Your AMH level is healthy, indicating a good ovarian reserve. The ultrasound also shows a healthy uterus and ovaries.”
My eyes instantly welled up. Relief washed over me so strongly I nearly sobbed.
“So… I’m okay?” I asked, barely daring to believe.
“Yes,” she confirmed with a smile. “At your age, with these results, you have a strong chance of conceiving. Since you’ve been trying for months without success, we’ll monitor closely. We can try timed intercourse with follicle monitoring or maybe low-dose ovulation induction. But IVF isn’t necessary yet.”
“Not infertility then?” Marco pressed.
“Not at all. Perhaps subfertility or irregular ovulation. But certainly not hopeless. We’ll give nature a little push.”
I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. The weight that had pressed on me for months finally loosened.
When we stepped outside into the hospital’s garden, the late morning sun touched everything in a soft glow. Marco stayed quiet, thoughtful.
“Thank you,” I whispered, turning to him. “I know I could’ve faced this alone before… but it feels so much easier because you’re with me now.”
He cupped my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek. “Sweet, this isn’t just your dream. It’s mine too. I want to see you carrying our child. I want to be with you in every stage, the painful ones, the joyful ones, all of it.”
That was when I finally broke down in tears. Not because of fear anymore, but because of the hope that had finally, finally found its way back into my heart.