They kept trying. Year after year, Lucy gave birth to twins, until her last pregnancy where she conceived quadruplet girls. Five pregnancies. Twelve daughters. By her last pregnancy, Lucy had grown a little smaller. Her bones weakened. Her energy dimmed. And Justin, despite his love for her, began to feel like the dream was mocking him with every soft pink blanket.
He hadn’t meant to drift. In the early years, he’d been a devoted father—gentle, attentive, proud. But with each new birth, the noise got louder, the days more chaotic. He became a man of checklists and chores, pouring himself into survival, until even Lucy barely recognized the man beside her.
Now, all he saw were numbers. Diaper costs, school supplies, rising rent, future weddings. He lay awake thinking about tuition, braces, prom dresses. Twelve girls, gigantic bills and his dream of having a son was still unfulfilled. He resented making the choice of settling down and living this life.
At twenty-nine, he felt ninety. The traditional life he’d once thought magical with Lucy had turned into something suffocating. He was working three dead-end jobs, watching his dreams dry up while laundry piled high and someone always needed something. This wasn’t a life—it was a sentence he wanted to escape.