I opened my eyes and looked at Daniel.
⠀
— Your father, I whispered.
⠀
My son took a step back.
⠀
— Huh?
⠀
— The secret has to do with your father. But not in the way you think.
⠀
The doctor looked at us in turn.
⠀
— Mrs. Margareta, before we discuss the past, we need to clarify one thing. We have no confirmation of a pregnancy. The ultrasound shows a very large abdominal tumor with an unusual appearance. We need a CT scan and further tests.
⠀
Daniel sat down next to me.
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— Mom, what does dad have to do with all this?
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I felt that I could not postpone the truth any longer.
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— Three days before he died, your father took me to a private doctor's office in Bucharest.
⠀
Daniel frowned.
⠀
— Why?
⠀
— Because he wanted us to have another child.
⠀
My son was speechless.
⠀
— Sixty-eight?
⠀
I nodded slowly.
⠀
Robert had always wanted a big family. After the children had grown up and moved away from home, loneliness weighed on him more than he admitted.
⠀
In recent years, he had started talking about modern medical procedures, about assisted reproduction and about women who had become mothers at an advanced age.
⠀
I always told him that we already had a beautiful family.
⠀
But he kept looking for information.
⠀
Three days before he died, he had convinced me to go for a consultation.
⠀
The doctor had explained to us that a pregnancy at my age would involve extraordinary medical risks and that he did not recommend such a procedure.
⠀
I had not started any treatment.
⠀
Then Robert had had a heart attack and died.
⠀
I had never talked to anyone about that visit.
⠀
— And why did you hide this from us? Daniel asked me.
⠀
— Because I was ashamed. I was afraid that you would think we had lost our minds.
⠀
The doctor intervened gently.
⠀
— I understand why this memory bothers you. But the consultation from twelve years ago cannot in itself explain what we are seeing today. We need to find out what the formation is.
⠀
That afternoon I had the CT scan.
⠀
Daniel stayed by my side, holding my hand in the waiting room.
⠀
When the doctor came back with the results, his expression was serious.
⠀
— Mrs. Margareta, you are not pregnant.
⠀
I felt such relief that I almost started laughing.
⠀
But the doctor continued:
⠀
— You have a very voluminous cystic formation, which seems to start from the area around the right ovary. It contains a large amount of fluid and presses on the surrounding organs.
⠀
— Is it cancer? Daniel asked immediately.
⠀
— We can’t say that just from the pictures. Some such formations are benign, others can be malignant. We need surgical evaluation and anatomopathological examination.
⠀
I looked at my stomach.
⠀
For six months I had told myself that it was just old age.
⠀
In reality, something had grown in my body that should have been examined a long time ago.
⠀
I was hospitalized for examinations and preparations for the procedure. The surgeons discussed the risks of the operation with me, taking into account my age and general condition.
⠀
The evening before the procedure, Daniel came with a bag of old photos.
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— I found them in my father’s box.
⠀
Among them was a photo from our wedding.
⠀
Robert was twenty-four years old and I was twenty-two. We were standing in front of the church, holding hands.
⠀
Daniel put the photo on the bedside table.
⠀
— Mom, can I ask you something?
⠀
— Sure.
⠀
— Did you really want another child?
⠀
I looked at the photo for a long time.
⠀
— No, Daniel. I loved your father, but I didn’t want to be a mother anymore. I went to the consultation because he insisted. If he hadn’t died, I should have told him more firmly what I wanted.
⠀
Daniel remained silent.
⠀
— I think I sometimes confused love with the obligation not to disappoint him, ⠀ I added.
⠀
The next day I had surgery.
⠀
The operation lasted several hours. The surgeons removed the formation, which had reached an impressive size.
⠀
When I woke up in the intensive care unit, the first face I saw was Daniel’s.
⠀
— Mom, the operation is over. The doctors say you did well.
⠀
I tried to smile.
⠀
— And your stomach?
⠀
— It's not what it used to be.
⠀
He laughed lightly, but his eyes were red.
⠀
The results of the pathological examination came a few days later.
⠀
The formation was benign.
⠀
When the doctor broke the news, Daniel covered his face with his hands.
⠀
I hadn’t seen him cry like that since his father’s funeral.
⠀
Recovery was slow. I needed help walking, getting dressed, and doing things I used to do myself.
⠀
But my children organized themselves without me asking.
⠀
Daniel came in the morning, my oldest daughter cooked my meals, and my second son took care of the shopping and doctor’s appointments.
⠀
One Sunday, after almost two months, we all gathered at my house.
⠀
The grandchildren were running around the yard, the great-grandchildren were fighting over a ball, and Sorina brought a big tray of apple pie.
⠀
Daniel sat down next to me.
⠀
— Do you know what scared me the most, Mom?
⠀
— Huh?
⠀
— That we could lose you without knowing you were sick.
⠀
I looked down.
⠀
— I didn’t want to worry you.
⠀
— I know. But next time, you tell us.
⠀
I nodded.
⠀
After a while, I also told him about the last visit to the doctor's office with Robert. I didn't hide anything anymore.
⠀
The children were surprised, but no one judged me.
⠀
That evening, after everyone had left, I stayed in the living room and looked at the photo of my husband.
⠀
For twelve years I had kept that secret as a duty to him.
⠀
Now I understood that I had had no reason to be ashamed.
⠀
Robert had been a man I loved, but he had also had desires that I did not share. I could remember him with warmth without hiding the difficult things in our marriage.
⠀
I put the photo back on the shelf and went to make my tea.
⠀
Before I went to bed, Daniel called me.
⠀
— Mom, are you okay?
⠀
— I'm okay, my dear.
⠀
— Are you sure?
⠀
I looked at the calendar where I had marked my next doctor's check-up.
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— Yes. And if I'm not, I'll tell you this time.
⠀
I heard him laugh with relief.
⠀
At eighty years old, I had not given birth to a child, as everyone had feared at first. But I had gone through an ordeal that made me understand how important it is not to hide my suffering from the people who love me.
⠀
And the following Sunday, when my four great-grandchildren came roaring through the door and rushed to hug me, I knew that the family I had was more than I could ever have wished for.
At 80, my belly had grown so much that doctors were left shocked
