When I was pregnant with our fourth child, Mason seemed thrilled and planned a big gender reveal party. We already had three daughters, and I thought this was his way of reconnecting. But when the cake revealed another girl, his face fell. Without a word, Mason walked out—and didn’t come back, leaving me and the girls stunned.
The girls were confused, and I was heartbroken, trying to keep it together for them. I called Mason’s father, Thomas, who stepped in immediately. He promised we wouldn’t be alone—and backed it with action. A generous deposit appeared in my account the next day, showing me that family wasn’t just about blood.
Weeks later, I saw Mason at a baby store—with another woman, expecting a boy. He admitted he left because I couldn’t “give him a son.” That’s when I realized: his love had conditions, based on a belief that only a son mattered. Mine never did, and I wasn’t going to let his choices define me.
In time, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy—Thomas Jr., named after the man who never abandoned us. When Mason returned, asking for a second chance, I shut the door. I had four wonderful children, peace in my home, and my voice back. And that was more than enough, more than I ever needed from him.