Afterward, in the car, he finally explained—if it could be called that.
“He told me that he just can’t have 6 kids at his age,” she wrote.
She stared at him, confused. This was the same man who had insisted on a big family. The same man who had celebrated each birth. Tears blurred her vision as she asked what they were supposed to do now.
“He kept saying that he just can’t have 6 kids.”
The conversation grew darker the closer they got to home.
“He says how he should not have gotten married and have kids,” she wrote. “And he does not know anymore if his life is worth it, that he’d be happy to have a reset button.”
Her heart sank. She reminded him, gently at first, then more firmly, that creating children was not something she had done alone.
“I reminded him it takes two to tango, and creating a kid is not just my fault.”
He didn’t answer.
The next morning, reality hit harder than any argument.
“I woke up with screaming and crying kids begging their father not to go,” she wrote.
