THREE YEARS OF PASSION — AND THE TRUTH THAT BROKE ME
My name is Daniel Harris.
If someone had asked me in the past whether I believed in fate, I would have said no. I used to think everything in life was a matter of choice: what to study, whom to love, whom to marry, how to live. But after that incident, I realized that some truths exist whether we want them to or not — quietly waiting for the day they reveal themselves.
I met Daisy Nguyen at a mutual friend’s birthday party. That night, she was wearing a simple cream-colored dress, her long black hair falling softly down her back. Her delicate face and gentle smile made me forget everyone else around us. Daisy wasn’t the type of woman who dazzled at first glance, but she had a quiet charm — the kind that grew stronger the longer you looked.
We talked for a long time that evening. Daisy was educated, soft-spoken, and thoughtful. She told me she worked in interior design, loved reading, and preferred peaceful afternoons to noisy parties. She came from a traditional family with strict parents.
I was drawn to her almost immediately.
I pursued Daisy for nearly a year — not in a rushed or flashy way, but patiently and respectfully. I took her out to dinner, exhibitions, long walks in the park. We talked about life, dreams, and the future. Daisy wasn’t easy to open up, but once she trusted someone, she gave them her full warmth.
The day Daisy agreed to be my girlfriend, I thought I was the luckiest man alive.
A Marriage That Looked Like a Dream
After two years of dating, we got married with the blessings of my family and friends. Our wedding wasn’t extravagant, but it was warm and elegant, costing about $25,000 — just enough to make everything feel proper and complete. My mother looked at Daisy with satisfaction, while my father nodded approvingly, praising his daughter-in-law for being beautiful and well-mannered.
I was always proud of my wife.
Whenever we went out together, we often received admiring looks. Friends said we were a “perfect match,” “a talented man and a beautiful woman.” I never claimed to be perfect, but Daisy truly was someone people couldn’t help but notice.
The first two years of our marriage were peaceful and happy. Daisy was a caring, gentle wife. She took care of my meals, my sleep, and even the smallest details of my daily life. When I came home late from work, she waited. When I was tired, she comforted me without ever complaining.
We were close, affectionate, deeply connected. I believed that with a child, our family would be complete.
The Anxiety of Being “Infertile”
By the third year of our marriage, Daisy still hadn’t gotten pregnant.
At first, I wasn’t too worried. I believed having children was a matter of fate — not something that could be forced. Daisy often smiled and reassured me:
“Don’t rush it. The baby will come when the time is right.”
But as time passed, the pressure grew.
My mother started asking more frequently.
“Have you two planned anything yet?”
“Maybe you should get checked, just to be safe.”
What began as concern gradually turned into insistence. I noticed Daisy becoming quieter whenever the topic of children came up.
I’m a practical person and not afraid to face problems. During a routine health check at a major hospital, I decided to have my reproductive health examined as well. It cost about $500, which I considered insignificant compared to peace of mind.
The results were a relief.
Everything was completely normal.
The doctor said,
“You have no issues. Your fertility is perfectly fine.”
Hearing that, only one thought remained in my mind.
Then the problem must be Daisy.
Her Strange Avoidance
I went home and gently suggested that Daisy go for a check-up too.
I chose my words carefully:
“Let’s just get it checked for peace of mind. If there’s anything, we can treat it early. It’ll be harder the older we get.”
But Daisy’s reaction surprised me.
She fell silent.
Then she made excuses:
“I’m tired…”
“I’ve been busy at work…”
“It’s probably just stress…”
I didn’t blame her. I thought she might be scared or under psychological pressure. I loved her even more and tried to talk gently, never forcing her.
But my mother wasn’t as patient.
One evening during dinner, she blurted out:
“A daughter-in-law who hasn’t had a child after three years should think about her responsibility to the family.”
Those words were like a knife.
I saw Daisy lower her head, her hands trembling slightly. That night, she cried for a long time.
The next morning, she said to me in a tired voice:
“Take me to the hospital this afternoon.”
I was relieved, thinking she had finally decided to face the issue.
I had no idea that day would be the one that shattered my life.
The Ultrasound Room and the Sentence That Made Me Collapse
We went to the largest hospital in the city. Daisy sat beside me in the waiting area, her face pale, her hands tightly clasped together. I thought she was simply nervous, so I held her hand to reassure her.
When it was her turn, Daisy was led into the ultrasound room. I followed, expecting it to be a quick procedure.
The doctor was a middle-aged woman with a very straightforward manner.
As soon as she placed the ultrasound probe on Daisy’s abdomen, within seconds, her expression changed.
She adjusted the machine, looked again.
Then suddenly, she lowered the device, turned to Daisy, and said sharply:
“Get off the bed.”
Before I could understand what was happening, the doctor raised her voice, almost shouting:
“You don’t have ovaries, and you don’t have a uterus — what exactly are you trying to scan?
You’re transgender, aren’t you?
Why didn’t you tell your husband the truth and instead come here wasting everyone’s time?”
My ears rang.
I stood frozen.
The room spun around me.
Daisy stepped down from the bed, her face drained of color. The doctor waved her away:
“Get out. Don’t interfere with other patients.”
The Naked Truth
I collapsed onto a bench in the hospital hallway.
I didn’t cry.
I couldn’t speak.
My entire body felt cold, as if all my strength had been drained away.
Daisy came out and stood in front of me, her head lowered.
After a long silence, she finally spoke through sobs:
“I’m sorry… I was too afraid to tell you.
I just wanted to live with you as a normal wife.
I was afraid of losing you.”
I looked at the woman standing before me.
The woman I loved.
The woman I had lived with for three years.
The woman I trusted completely.
I didn’t know how to look at her anymore.
Daisy continued, tears streaming down her face:
“If you can’t forgive me… then we should stop here.
I won’t blame you.”
Only then did I realize another truth.
For all these years, we had never officially registered our marriage.
Daisy always said:
“Let’s register after I give you a child. There’s no rush.”
I believed her.
I had never carefully checked her identification documents.
Not because I was suspicious — but because I trusted her too much.
Love and an Uncrossable Wall
I took Daisy home in silence.
The entire drive, neither of us said a word.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I thought about the past three years. About the happiness we shared. About Daisy’s gentle care. About the genuine love I couldn’t deny.
But I also thought about my parents.
About their desire for grandchildren.
About the fact that I couldn’t accept that the woman I married was transgender.
I didn’t hate Daisy.
But I couldn’t overcome the shock.
My love was real.
But my limits were real too.
What Should I Do?
Should I continue living with her, accepting a childless marriage and facing society’s judgment?
Or should I walk away, even though my heart feels like it’s being torn apart?
I stand between love and responsibility.
Between affection and truth.
And for the first time in my life…
I don’t know which path to choose.
