Chapter 1 · My Husband's Girl-Bro

After three years of trying for a baby, my husband, Fred Banks, asked his "bro girl" to give him a vasectomy.

I saw her post on social media.

She wrote: [First day snipping my bro!]

The photo showed her taking a selfie with my unconscious husband on the operating table, flashing a peace sign.

A wave of suffocation hit me. He knew all the pain I'd gone through just to have a baby.

Right then, one of Fred's buddies congratulated me. [Laura, you're so lucky. Fred chose to go childfree for you and even got a vasectomy. Seriously, what other man would do that for his wife?]

I just sat there in shock for ages. Once the call was over, I tossed the folic acid pills I was holding.

I told Fred I wanted a divorce, and congratulated him on his snip.

*****

For three years, every single day, I was trying to get pregnant, popping those nasty pills, just wanting a baby.

But Fred had his bro girl personally snip him.

Fred's buddy called twice, but when no one picked up, he hung up.

There was a noise at the door; it was Fred coming home.

He looked exhausted, but when he saw me still waiting for him, he came over and gave me a hug.

"Why are you still up so late?" he asked.

I was waiting for him to explain himself.

Why would he do this? Why the vasectomy? Why hurt me like this?

Did he really not notice all those meds I choked down, all the nights I cried myself to sleep?

Fred just gently patted my head and then went to the bathroom.

He didn't say a word. Just then, I noticed his phone on the coffee table; the screen kept lighting up with notifications.

I picked it up and unlocked it; the password was still my birthday.

Somehow, that was proof that he still loved me.

But when I tapped into the new messages, my heart just dropped.

Vanessa: [Fred, enjoying the snip? Not bad, huh? I did the surgery myself. Don't do that for just anyone, you know.]

I scrolled up and saw nonstop messages. They'd been chatting every single day without a break, even on our wedding anniversary, just two days ago, when I kept bugging him, telling him it was my ovulation day.

Right at 8 PM that night, while we were supposed to be enjoying a candlelit dinner, he was glued to his phone, chatting with Vanessa Jenkins.

He wouldn't let go of his phone, saying it was all work stuff.

At 1 AM, Vanessa sent: [Fred, working late again? Typical. You always put your wife before your bros.

[If I ever get married, I'm never having kids. Giving birth sounds like pure torture. My future husband better get a vasectomy and go childfree. No way I'm ending up like Laura, just some baby-making machine.]

That phrase "baby-making machine" stabbed me right in the heart.

If it hadn't been for that miscarriage three years ago, who would willingly choke down those meds, obsess over ovulation, only to be crushed by disappointment again and again?

Vanessa was behind all this pain.

Vanessa went on: [Fred, aren't you tired of going at it every day? Your little bro must be chafed by now. Why not just get a vasectomy already?]

Fred texted her back the moment we were done making love. [Okay.]

Seeing his one-word reply hit me like a slap.

A wave of helplessness washed over me, and I just sat there, numb, staring into space.

No need to torture myself with the rest of those messed-up chats.

Three years ago, when I was five months pregnant, Vanessa misdiagnosed me with a tumor. Fred didn't even hesitate; he immediately had Vanessa do the surgery.

Right there on the operating table, I lost our baby.

Even after everything, Fred still told me to just let it go.

"Vanessa's the top doctor at her hospital. If you make a fuss, you'll ruin her career. She worked so hard to get here," he kept telling me.

He could recall every detail of how hard Vanessa worked, and the joy on her face after her first successful surgery.

But meanwhile, he never seemed to remember that just yesterday, our baby was already a fully formed little one.

Fred came out of the shower and saw me lost in thought, holding his phone.

I asked, "Don't you have anything to say?"

Fred replied, "You're overthinking it. Vanessa and I are just bros; that's all."

Chapter 1

After three years of trying for a baby, my husband, Fred Banks, asked his "bro girl" to give him a vasectomy.

I saw her post on social media.

She wrote: [First day snipping my bro!]

The photo showed her taking a selfie with my unconscious husband on the operating table, flashing a peace sign.

A wave of suffocation hit me. He knew all the pain I'd gone through just to have a baby.

Right then, one of Fred's buddies congratulated me. [Laura, you're so lucky. Fred chose to go childfree for you and even got a vasectomy. Seriously, what other man would do that for his wife?]

I just sat there in shock for ages. Once the call was over, I tossed the folic acid pills I was holding.

I told Fred I wanted a divorce, and congratulated him on his snip.

*****

For three years, every single day, I was trying to get pregnant, popping those nasty pills, just wanting a baby.

But Fred had his bro girl personally snip him.

Fred's buddy called twice, but when no one picked up, he hung up.

There was a noise at the door; it was Fred coming home.

He looked exhausted, but when he saw me still waiting for him, he came over and gave me a hug.

"Why are you still up so late?" he asked.

I was waiting for him to explain himself.

Why would he do this? Why the vasectomy? Why hurt me like this?

Did he really not notice all those meds I choked down, all the nights I cried myself to sleep?

Fred just gently patted my head and then went to the bathroom.

He didn't say a word. Just then, I noticed his phone on the coffee table; the screen kept lighting up with notifications.

I picked it up and unlocked it; the password was still my birthday.

Somehow, that was proof that he still loved me.

But when I tapped into the new messages, my heart just dropped.

Vanessa: [Fred, enjoying the snip? Not bad, huh? I did the surgery myself. Don't do that for just anyone, you know.]

Right at 8 PM that night, while we were supposed to be enjoying a candlelit dinner, he was glued to his phone, chatting with Vanessa Jenkins.

He wouldn't let go of his phone, saying it was all work stuff.

At 1 AM, Vanessa sent: [Fred, working late again? Typical. You always put your wife before your bros.

That phrase "baby-making machine" stabbed me right in the heart.

If it hadn't been for that miscarriage three years ago, who would willingly choke down those meds, obsess over ovulation, only to be crushed by disappointment again and again?

Vanessa was behind all this pain.

Vanessa went on: [Fred, aren't you tired of going at it every day? Your little bro must be chafed by now. Why not just get a vasectomy already?]

Fred texted her back the moment we were done making love. [Okay.]

Seeing his one-word reply hit me like a slap.

A wave of helplessness washed over me, and I just sat there, numb, staring into space.

No need to torture myself with the rest of those messed-up chats.

Three years ago, when I was five months pregnant, Vanessa misdiagnosed me with a tumor. Fred didn't even hesitate; he immediately had Vanessa do the surgery.

Right there on the operating table, I lost our baby.

Even after everything, Fred still told me to just let it go.

"Vanessa's the top doctor at her hospital. If you make a fuss, you'll ruin her career. She worked so hard to get here," he kept telling me.

He could recall every detail of how hard Vanessa worked, and the joy on her face after her first successful surgery.

But meanwhile, he never seemed to remember that just yesterday, our baby was already a fully formed little one.

Fred came out of the shower and saw me lost in thought, holding his phone.

I asked, "Don't you have anything to say?"

Fred replied, "You're overthinking it. Vanessa and I are just bros; that's all."