It was a typical Tuesday morning. Adam and I were in the kitchen, preparing for work. He was flipping pancakes, and I was pouring coffee.

“You nervous about today?” Adam asked, sliding a plate of golden pancakes in front of me.

I shrugged, trying to stay casual. “Nah, just paperwork. Sign here, and we’re one step closer to being parents.”

Adam grinned, his lopsided smile still making my heart flip.

“I can’t wait,” he said, planting a syrupy kiss on my cheek.

I laughed, pushing him away. “Gross! You’re like a big, bearded maple tree.”

As I wiped the sticky kiss, I saw the love in Adam’s eyes. We’d been trying to start a family, and this anonymous donor program seemed perfect—no messy relationships, just us ready to love a baby.

If only I knew then how wrong I was.

The fertility clinic waiting room was sleek and white with soothing music and a giant fish tank. I was scrolling through my phone when I heard the receptionist call my name.

“Joan? We’re ready for you.”

I stood up, forcing a smile, and walked to Cindy’s desk. She knocked her mouse, and the computer screen lit up, showing a face I thought I’d never see again.

Mark.

My heart raced. I gripped the desk, panic setting in. It couldn’t be. But there he was—those dark eyes, that crooked smile.

“Ms. Walker? Are you alright?” Cindy’s voice sounded distant.

“No…” I stepped back, feeling dizzy. “I need a moment. I’ll be right back.”

I ran to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall, my head in my hands. Mark. My ex. The man who’d shattered my heart and made me feel worthless.

And now, he was our donor.

Memories of his rage and criticism flooded back—the crashes, the thumps. I struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by fear.

I sat there shaking, trying not to vomit. Eventually, I pulled myself together, focusing on the night I left him—fleeing with only a backpack, never feeling safe until I crossed state lines.

Mark was supposed to be out of my life. Now he was back.

What should I do? I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. The thought of having his child was terrifying.

I took a deep breath, splashed water on my face, and looked at my reflection.

“Get a grip, Joan,” I told myself. “Do what you came here to do, then go home.”

I marched back to Cindy, signing the papers with a shaky scrawl. The drive home was a blur, my mind racing. Should I tell Adam? What if he wanted to back out?

I pulled into our driveway, hands shaking. Adam looked up from the living room, smiling warmly.

In that moment, I made a decision. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t risk everything we’d built together. Mark was in the past. This baby would be ours, mine and Adam’s.

I plastered on a smile and walked in.

“Hey, babe!” Adam called. “How’d it go?”

I forced a laugh. “Oh, you know. Boring paperwork. Nothing exciting.”

Adam came over, hugging me. “One step closer, huh? I can’t wait to meet our little peanut.”

I hugged him back, burying my face in his chest to hide my tears. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Me too.”

As weeks passed, I tried to push Mark’s involvement to the back of my mind, but it was always there, lurking. I’d wake in cold sweats, haunted by dreams.

During the day, I’d zone out, lost in old memories. Adam noticed—I was jumpier, more distant, snapping at him over little things, then feeling guilty.

One night, a month after the clinic, during dinner, Adam put down his fork.

“Joan, what’s going on?” he asked softly.

I looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting weird since the clinic. Did something happen? Is there a problem with the pregnancy?”

Panic rose. I opened my mouth to spill everything but—

“No!” I said sharply. “Everything’s fine. I’m just… stressed.”

Adam’s brow furrowed. “You can talk to me about anything. Maybe you should see a therapist.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll look into it.”

As I lay in bed, unable to sleep, I wondered: What would you do in my shoes? How do you choose between protecting the person you love and being honest with them?