Daniel had always taken fatherhood for granted. Two boys with his crooked smile, a wife who called him their anchor, a home stitched together with laughter. He never questioned it, never thought biology could betray him. Until one afternoon in a doctor’s office, everything he believed about himself collapsed.
The word infertile echoed long after the appointment ended, clinical and cold. It wasn’t new, the doctor explained. It had likely been that way since birth. Daniel barely heard the rest. His hands clenched around the report, the lines of numbers and ranges, as if he could squeeze them into silence.
Back home, nothing looked different. Ethan argued over syrup, Leo spilled milk, Claire smiled across the table. But Daniel felt the walls shift around him. If he couldn’t father children, then whose were they? The question gnawed at him, dark and insistent, and once it took hold, it wouldn’t let go.