I Found a Hand-Drawn Card Saying ‘Happy Birthday, Mommy’ in My Wife’s Drawer — But We Never Had Kids
I never thought a simple piece of paper could turn my world upside down. My wife, Emma, and I had been married for seven years. We had talked about having children early in our relationship, but life had other plans. After years of trying and struggling with infertility, we had accepted that we would remain just the two of us. Or so I thought.
Last weekend, while looking for some documents in our bedroom, I came across an old, wooden box in Emma’s drawer—one I had never seen before. It was tucked away beneath layers of scarves and forgotten trinkets. Something about it made my heart pound. Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it.
Inside, there were old letters, small keepsakes, and a few photos. But what caught my eye was a hand-drawn birthday card with childish handwriting. It said, “Happy Birthday, Mommy! I love you so much.” Next to the words was a drawing of a woman with brown hair—Emma’s exact shade—holding hands with a little girl.
My blood ran cold.
I sat there for what felt like hours, staring at the card. My mind raced with questions. Who had written it? Why was it hidden? And why had my wife never mentioned a child?
That night, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. After dinner, I took a deep breath and placed the card on the table in front of Emma.
Her face went pale. Her eyes flickered from the card to me, and for a moment, I thought she might pass out.
“Where…where did you find this?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“In your drawer,” I replied, my throat dry. “Emma, we never had kids. Who wrote this?”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she took a shaky breath. “I was going to tell you one day,” she finally said, barely above a whisper.
She looked down at the card and traced the edges with her fingers, lost in memory.
“Before we met, I was engaged to someone else. His name was Daniel. We were young, in love, and… I was pregnant.” She let out a trembling sigh. “But things didn’t go the way we planned. I lost the baby at six months. It was the hardest thing I ever went through.”
Tears streamed down her face now. “After she was gone, I made this card. I wanted to feel like she had lived, even for just a little while. I kept it all these years, hidden away. It’s all I have left of her.”
My chest tightened. I had spent years with this woman, thinking I knew everything about her. But she had been carrying this unimaginable pain alone.
I reached for her hand. “Emma… why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to reopen old wounds,” she admitted. “And I was afraid you’d see me differently.”
I pulled her into a tight embrace. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
And in that moment, I knew that love meant not just sharing happiness—but also carrying each other’s deepest sorrows.
