The moment I pressed “play,” my life split into two halves—before and after. Before, I was a woman who believed she understood her husband completely. After… I wasn’t sure I knew him at all.
I’m 43, and for most of my life, things had been steady. My husband Daniel and I had built a good home—nothing extravagant, but full of warmth. We had two wonderful children, Emma and Noah, and a rhythm that felt safe.
Then Daniel started talking about having a third child.
At first, I laughed it off. “Daniel, I’m not twenty-five anymore.”
