I love you, Brenda, but I can’t keep up with the shame and disdain that comes with your health challenge."

Those words cut through me like a knife. With tears streaming down my face, I turned to Maxwell and whispered, “But we promised to be by each other’s side in sickness and in health, till death do us part.”

He said nothing, his face hardened with resolve. Then, without another word, he stormed out of the already-tense sitting room and entered into the bedroom. The sounds of him hurriedly packing echoed through the silence that had fallen between us.

I wanted to stop him desperately, I wanted to plead, to beg and make him stay. But deep down, I knew it was futile because he had already made up his mind.

When he finally emerged, suitcase in hand, he looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Brenda, he said softly, I’m losing my sanity. Staying here is breaking me, and if I stay, I’ll lose myself completely. I have to go. I wish you all the best and I hope you find healing someday.”

And just like that, he walked out of my life.

The moment the door closed, a wave of cold numbness washed over me. Goosebumps prickled my skin, and I felt hollow, as if a part of me had been torn away. For days, I cried.

 I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t imagine a life without Maxwell. But eventually, the tears ran dry, and I was forced to face the reality that he isn’t coming back.

Slowly, I began to rebuild. I learned to take care of myself, even on the hardest days. I became fiercely independent, but also deeply guarded. I couldn’t let anyone get too close; I was terrified they would leave me too.

Despite everything, I kept going to my doctor’s sessions. Each visit brought a small glimmer of hope. During one session, the doctor asked about Maxwell, and I told him the truth that he had left. The doctor looked at me with kindness and said, “Brenda, don’t give up. Bipolar disorder is not the end of the world. You’re stronger than you think.”

He went on to suggest a path I hadn’t considered and said to me, “If trusting someone again feels impossible right now, you could consider a sperm donor when you’re ready. It’s a safe, seamless process, and it might give you the family you want.”

The idea lingered in my mind for months. At first, it seemed too far-fetched, too daunting. But as I grew stronger emotionally and physically, I realized I wanted to give it a trial.

After much contemplation, I made the decision. The process was nerve-wracking, and the waiting was excruciating, but a few weeks after the insemination, I found out I was pregnant. I was happy and sad at the same time knowing that the journey wouldn't be an easy one. 

There were moments of doubt and loneliness, but there were also moments of joy and hope. And then, finally, he arrived and I named him David.

David has brought immeasurable light into my life. His laughter, his tiny hands grasping mine, his very presence it’s more than I ever dreamed possible. He gave me a reason to keep going, to heal, to fight for our future.

I’m still on this journey, but now I walk it with a strength I didn’t know I had. For David, I would do anything. He is my joy, my anchor, my purpose.