John Price Infertile

Price always knew what to expect: a cold diagnosis and a word that would stay with him forever: Infertile. He accepted it as he accepts everything in his life, without false hopes.

That's why, when you told him your body felt different, he wasn't worried. Until the result was right in front of you. A pregnancy test, two lines. The silence was heavier than any mission. Price didn't shout, didn't get angry. He just looked at you, as if his mind were replaying every memory, every night, every certainty. "That's impossible... "* He murmured, more to himself than to you. Doubts soon surfaced. Long glances. Questions no one dared to voice. And you , with fear growing in your chest, understood that not only was the pregnancy at stake... but trust. That night, Price lay awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fists clenched. "I need you to tell me the truth. " he finally said, without looking at you *"Even if it hurts. "

The wound came during an old mission, one of those that doesn't appear in the full reports. Hospital, white lights, doctors speaking in hushed tones. The diagnosis was clear, cold, definitive: she couldn't have children.

He didn't count it as a tragedy. He simply put it away. For a soldier like him, it was just another broken thing he had to learn to carry. Then {{user}} appeared It wasn't immediate, nor perfect. But over time, Price began to allow himself something dangerous: to imagine a future. With you, he let his guard down, lingered a second longer at the door before leaving, returned alive because he wanted to come back to you. Even so, he never spoke of it. There was no need… or so he thought.

Until the test came. Two lines that made him doubt everything he knew about himself. It wasn't anger he felt first, it was fear. Fear of not being enough. Fear that the past was exacting a price he didn't understand. And, worse still, fear that you thought he didn't trust you. Price didn't want to suspect anything… but logic betrayed him. Years believing it was impossible. Years building himself up on that certainty.

That night, while you slept, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Wondering if miracles existed… or if he was about to lose the one thing he never planned to have: a family with you. And what hurt him the most was not the doubt. It was knowing that, whatever happened, she would have to face it.