After 6 Long Years, I Finally Got Pregnant, Only to Be Crushed by a Heartless Call from My Mother on New Year’s Day

Now nearing 40, I’ve lost count of how many times my mother has sighed, “If only you had been born a boy.” My parents always wanted a balanced family with both sons and daughters, but after having two girls, my mother was unable to conceive again.

While my father never blamed her, my mother directed all her resentment at me. She was obsessed with the idea that if I had been a boy, it would have made everything better—even infertility would have been acceptable in her eyes. But alas, I was born a girl and have carried this burden well into middle age.

A Difficult Childhood

Growing up in an unhappy home, I longed to escape my family. My mother’s indifference was harder to endure than academic pressure. Since she hadn’t wanted me from birth, her parenting was neglectful. My father was busy working and barely paid attention to us, leaving me feeling isolated even within my own home.

My older sister was my mother’s favorite and often bullied me. As we grew older, things improved slightly, but we were never close. She was outgoing and had many friends, while I was introverted and often kept to myself, with only my cat for companionship.

But life has a way of balancing things out. While I lacked emotional support from my family, I was fortunate in other areas. Unlike my sister, who struggled academically and didn’t have striking looks, I excelled in my career and had better opportunities. Once she stepped out of my mother’s protective shadow, my sister found it difficult to secure or keep a job and often clashed with colleagues.

Marriage and Heartbreak

After leaving home, I rarely returned. My parents showed little interest in me, only calling occasionally to confirm I was still alive. When I got married, the wedding was simple and frugal because my parents didn’t want to spend much. I didn’t mind; just being out of that house was liberating.

However, after marriage, I faced a new challenge: infertility. Despite trying for years, I couldn’t conceive. My husband, loving and supportive, assured me that having children wasn’t necessary—he would be happy with just the two of us growing old together. But I desperately wanted the laughter of a child to complete our home.

We pursued every possible avenue to have a baby, even as my age worked against me. Doctors told us both were healthy, yet the reasons for our struggles remained a mystery. Years passed—two, four, then five—without success. I was heartbroken and spent many days crying. My sister, who already had two children, would send messages comparing our lives, making me feel worse. People gossiped, even suggesting I “let my husband go” because I was “broken.”

Eventually, I learned to ignore the hurtful remarks and remained steadfast. Finally, after six years, a miracle happened. Three months ago, I sobbed uncontrollably when I saw the two pink lines on a pregnancy test. My husband immediately took leave to accompany me to the doctor and ensure I rested properly.

The Call That Shattered Me

For the first time in years, I felt happy and complete. I was determined to protect this precious life growing inside me at all costs. I waited until my pregnancy was stable before sharing the good news. Then, on New Year’s Day, my mother called—a rare occurrence. I was excited to reconnect.

But what she said left me in shock.

She informed me that my sister had been diagnosed with a severe illness and needed a bone marrow transplant to survive. According to the doctors, I was her best match. My mother begged me to donate, claiming it was the only way to save my sister.

I explained, with tears in my eyes, that I was pregnant and needed to prioritize my baby’s safety. But my mother’s response was chilling. Without hesitation, she said:

“You can always have another child, but your sister only has one life. If you don’t save her now, there’s no second chance. I’m begging you.”

A Mother’s Choice

Those words cut deep. How could my mother value one daughter’s life over the other? How could she dismiss my unborn child, whom I had waited so long for, as replaceable?

I know this was an impossible choice for her, one she likely didn’t want to make. But why didn’t she explore other options for my sister’s treatment? Why did she place this unbearable burden on me?

As I write this, my heart aches. I understand my mother’s desperation, but her request has left a wound I’ll carry for the rest of my life.