Damian's claim

Chapter One

The Diagnosis

The walls of the hospital room felt like they were closing in. The air smelled of antiseptic and something bitter that clung to Alexander’s throat. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles turned pale. At nineteen, she had never imagined herself sitting in a doctor’s office for something as serious as this.

Her mother sat beside her, lips pressed into a trembling line, while her father stood near the window, his arms folded, staring out as though the view outside might offer him answers.



Dr. Nathital adjusted his glasses and sighed softly, his expression carrying the weight of bad news. “Alexander,” he began gently, “the results from your scan have come back. We’ve run them twice to be certain.”



Alexander’s stomach twisted. Her mother leaned forward, clutching her daughter’s hand as though she could shield her from the words that were about to fall.



“You were born without a uterus,” A condition in which the uterus is absent is called Müllerian agenesis (also known as Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser syndrome, MRKH



The ovaries are usually present and functional, the doctor said, his voice low but firm. “That is why the abdominal pain occurred, and why at nineteen you have not yet had your cycle. This condition means you will not be able to carry children.”



For a moment, the room was silent. Alexander blinked at him, as though she hadn’t heard correctly. The words didn’t make sense. Born without…? Unable to…? Her mind scrambled to form a complete thought, but all she could hear was a rushing in her ears, loud and merciless.



Her mother gasped. “Doctor, surely you must be mistaken. She is still young, maybe her cycle is just late.



The doctor shook his head gently. “No, ma’am. We have done every necessary test. It is not a matter of lateness. This is a congenital condition. There is no mistake.”



Alexander’s lips trembled as she finally found her voice. “So… I will never… I will never carry a child?”



Dr. Nathital’s eyes softened. “No, Alexander. I am very sorry.”



Her mother covered her mouth with both hands, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. “No, no, this cannot be. My baby…” She turned to her husband. “Tell him, tell him there must be something”



But her father did not move from his spot by the window. His jaw was tight, his face set, but his eyes glistened in the dim hospital light. He swallowed hard before speaking, his voice rough. “Is there no other option, doctor? Nothing?”



“There are other paths,” the doctor said carefully. “She could consider adoption in the future, or perhaps surrogacy, depending on circumstances. But she will not be able to conceive naturally. I know this is a difficult thing to hear, especially at her age.”



Alexander’s chest heaved. Each word felt like a stone dropping onto her shoulders. Adoption. Surrogacy. They sounded like words from a stranger’s life, not hers. Her dreams flashed before her eyes: walking down the aisle in a white dress, holding her husband’s hand, later carrying a baby with her smile and his eyes. All gone in one breath.



She turned to her father suddenly, desperation breaking through her shock. “Daddy, say something. Please. Tell me he’s wrong.”



Her father’s gaze finally left the window and settled on her. For the first time, Alexander saw fear in his eyes, and it terrified her more than the doctor’s words. “I… I don’t know what to say, Ale.”



Her tears spilled over. “You’re supposed to tell me it will be fine! You’re supposed to tell me I’m not… broken.”



“Don’t say that,” her mother cried, clutching her daughter’s arm. “You are not broken, my love. Don’t you dare say that. You are still my baby, my gift from God.”



Alexander pulled away from her mother’s embrace, her voice rising with anguish. “How am I a gift when I can’t even do what every woman is supposed to do? How am I supposed to live knowing I will never be a mother?”



Her mother sobbed harder, rocking on the chair as if her own world had just collapsed. The doctor stood quietly, giving them space, his expression a mixture of sympathy and helplessness.



Her father’s voice broke through again, low but heavy. “This world is not kind, Alexander. People talk. They judge. We must be careful who knows about this.”



Alexander stared at him in disbelief. “So do you even think I should hide? Pretend? Like I am some shame to the family?”



“No!” her mother said quickly, shaking her head. “That is not what your father means.” She turned to him with pleading eyes. “Tell her she is not a shame. Tell her she is not less.”



Her father exhaled deeply and ran a hand over his face. “You are no less, Ale. But people… they can be cruel. And I don’t want their cruelty to destroy you more than it has already