My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I tore the envelope open.
Inside was a stack of medical documents, corporate bank statements, and a legal non-disclosure agreement dated five years ago. My eyes scanned the top medical document first. It was a fertility report from the Centro de Fertilidad de Guadalajara. It wasn’t Lucy’s report. It was mine.
I read the words, but my brain refused to process them.
Patient: Raymond Mendez
Diagnosis: Severe Azoospermia due to childhood mumps complication.
Prognosis: Absolute and irreversible sterility. Count: 0%.
The date on the paper was from the second year of our marriage.
I fell back into the office chair, the air completely leaving my lungs for the second time that night. I was sterile. I had always been sterile.
A loose note fell out from between the medical pages. It was a letter from Lucy.
“Ray,
You brought the medical results home four years ago, but you never opened the envelope. You were too proud, too terrified that the ‘flaw’ might be yours. So you threw it in the bottom drawer and started drinking. I found it. I read it. And when I confronted the doctor, he confirmed you could never biologically father a child.
I loved you enough to keep your secret. I let you blame me. I endured your scoffs, your cold shoulders, and your public pity because I wanted to protect your fragile masculine ego. I thought my silence was loyalty. But then you brought Valerie into our lives. You threw your infidelity in my face, and worse, you used a miracle that you claimed I couldn’t give you as an excuse to break my heart.
But here is the truth you didn’t know about your precious Valerie, and your loyal business partner, David…”
