*Names have been changed for anonymity purposes
Gemma* arrived at my apartment on Saturday night with a bottle of wine and an apology for “being late”, even though she was exactly on time. We’ve been friends for four years, but she’s always felt more like an older sister.
Sensing she had something to tell me from her unusually timid demeanour, I watched as she wrapped her hands around her glass of wine as if to steady herself.
“I don’t really say this out loud often,” she told me, staring into her wine as though the words were somewhere at the bottom of the glass. “But I had my womb taken out when I was 21. After a car crash.”
She said it, but then shook her head straight away, like she was aware of just how heavy those words were. “It sounds mad when you say it like that,” she added quietly. “Even now.”
She explained that the recovery was only part of it. “When the physical side of it settled, the mental side got worse,” she said. “Because I just kept thinking, ‘How am I supposed to date now?’ How do you tell someone that and not watch them leave?” She paused, then gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “I basically decided I just wouldn’t date properly. I’d go out, have fun, meet people after nights out… but nothing serious. No attachment.”
My heart broke for her. There was no drama in the way she said it, just certainty. Like it was a rule she had lived by for years.
‘I was jealous of my friends’
“I was jealous of my friends without even meaning to be,” she admitted. “They were falling in love, breaking up, all that messy early-twenties stuff. I just…wasn’t in it. I kept myself out of it completely.”
Only a handful of people knew. “My family, and two close friends,” she said. “That was it. Even at uni, people knew I’d been in the crash, but not the rest. I wasn’t sure how to explain it. At that age, people don’t really know what to do with something like that.”
However, everything changed when she met James, her darling husband, whom I have known for as long as I’ve known her. “I met him on my first day at the Big Four firm, as you know,” she said, finally smiling a little. “We were on the same team straight away. Long hours, busy season, all of that. You either get on with someone in that environment, or you don’t survive it.”
They got on. “Everyone at work used to tease us,” she laughed. “They were like, ‘Why aren’t you two together?’ And I’d just say, ‘No, we’re friends.’ Like it was obvious. Like I wasn’t completely aware of it myself.”
But then James handed in his notice. “He got another job,” she said. “And I remember just feeling devastated. Silly really. But it felt like I was losing him completely. Not just as a colleague.” She looked down. “I think I always knew men don’t tend to stay close friends with women when they leave work either,” she said. “And I just assumed that would be it.”
His last night in the office, everything shifted. “We went out to celebrate,” she said. “And I think I’d already decided I was going to lose him anyway, so I just…stopped holding myself back.” She gave a small, knowing smile.
‘I went home and cried’
“It wasn’t planned. But it was mutual. Very mutual.” After that night, they stayed up talking until morning. “It was one of those nights where you just don’t stop giggling and chatting,” she said. “And then we were cuddled up the next day, and I remember thinking, ‘This is it. This is the problem now.’” Even then, she’d already started pulling away. “I went home and cried,” she said. “Because I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fall in love with him. Or worse, let him fall in love with me and then tell him I couldn’t have children.”
Her voice softened. “I decided to end it before it even started.” So she stopped replying to his messages. “I thought I was protecting him,” she said. “But really, I was just avoiding the conversation.”
Two weeks later, he called. “I remember panicking,” she laughed. “He said he was coming over, and I thought ‘f*ck.’” Once Emma buzzed him up, the look on his face nearly killed her. “He was really upset,” she said. “And I just remember him saying, ‘What did I do?’ And I thought, ‘God. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid’.” Eventually, she told him. “All of it,” she said quietly.
She took a breath, then looked up at me. “And he just said, ‘Gemma… I love you.’” She shook her head slightly, still not quite believing it. Even now, having watched them together for years, I still struggle to understand how she ever doubted his love. “And I told him he couldn’t,” she said. “Because I didn’t think I could let someone choose me knowing everything.” But he didn’t leave.
‘He chose me anyway’
“We talked for hours,” she said. “About what life would look like. About children. About everything I thought would make it impossible.” She paused. “And he just… chose me anyway.”
Seven years later, they are still together. Wiping away my tears quietly so as not to take from her moment, I asked how they remained so strong throughout the years. “It hasn’t always been easy,” she admitted. “Of course it hasn’t. We see friends having babies, and there’s always that little moment of longing.” But then her face lit up.
“We’re on the adoption list now,” she said. “That’s why I’m telling you this story.” We both burst into tears.
“James has never once used it against me,” she said. “Not even in the smallest way. And I always feared he might, eventually. But he didn’t.”
However, his family had questions at first. “Of course they did,” she said. “But his dad said something at our wedding that stayed with me. He said anyone who knows us can see we were made for each other.” That meant a lot coming from him.
She looked down at her glass of wine, then back up. “I think I spent years believing I was destined to be alone because of it,” she said. “But I wasn’t. I was just scared.” And then, after a pause: “I just didn’t know yet that someone could choose me fully. Especially after everything.”
Wiping away my own tears, I managed to say, “Of course they could; you’re the best person I know. And you will no doubt be the best mum.”
Read more columns in the Between Us series, here.
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Share this post