My husband once promised that if I gave him a baby, he would handle everything else.
He said I wouldn’t have to give up my career.
He said we would be equals.
He said we would be a team.
Then our twins were born—and suddenly, I was being told that wanting to keep my job was “unrealistic.”
So I agreed to step back… but only under one condition.
My name is Ava, and I’m a family physician.
Becoming a doctor wasn’t a phase or a passion project. It was a decade of relentless effort—medical school, residency, overnight shifts, and learning how to stay calm when other people were falling apart. I’d held hands during diagnoses that changed lives and stitched wounds while the rest of the world slept.
It wasn’t glamorous.
But it was earned.
My husband, Nick, had a very different dream. He wanted children—especially a son. He talked about backyard baseball games, teaching life lessons, and leaving behind something meaningful. That vision mattered to him, and I respected it.
I wanted kids too.
Just not at the cost of my identity.
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