ng my wife Sarah' s hands. A boy and a girl, identical sets of wide, blue eyes star

er voice bright and cheerful.

had been married for five years, and for five years, the one cons

ore than my own desire for a family. I was an orphan, and the longing

rah?" I asked, my vo

d just brought home a new puppy. "Aren't they preciou

udden, overwhelming hope. She had changed her mind. All this time,

, I had agreed to a vasectomy two years ago, a final, sterile pun

e air smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee. I explained the situation, the sudde

gan, his voice low and serious, "a vasectomy reversal is one thing. But your file says something different." He turned the monitor toward

't make sense.

ase, which you did not have," he said, looking at me with pity. "Liam, the removal of the seminal ves

reversible. A lie. Sarah had told me it was a simple vasectomy. Why would she lie about something

tairs when I heard voices coming from the study. It was Sarah and her brother, David. Their wor

bring them here," David hissed. "Wha

voice was cold, confident. "He love

Then you tricked your actual husband into getting his seminal vesicles remove

cked into place with horrifying clarity. The lie about the surgery. The sudden arrival of

artyrdom. "Mark is dying! I owed him a life debt. He wanted childr

sick right there in the hallway. I retreated to my home office, my sanctuary, and locked the door. My hands shook as I looke

f us on our honeymoon, laughing on a beach in Hawaii

den, violent surge of rage and grief, I grabbed a metal letter opener from my desk and smashed the glass. Shards f

uming the last remnants of the man I used to be. The loving,

You missed dinner." Her voice was laced with that familiar, feigned concern

love I felt for her hadn't just died, it had been murdered. It lay in a heap of ashes in the fireplace, and I knew, with a certainty