PROOF
Anthony Green had spent fifteen years believing he was sterile.
Fifteen years.
The number haunted him now.
Fifteen birthdays.
Fifteen Christmases.
Fifteen years of watching friends become fathers.
Fifteen years of family gatherings where relatives lowered their voices whenever children were mentioned.
Fifteen years of pity.
Of humiliation.
Of loneliness.
Of slowly accepting a future he had never wanted.
At first, he had fought.
He had visited specialist after specialist.
Hospital after hospital.
Country after country.
Each new doctor brought fresh hope.
Each new result crushed it.
Eventually, hope became exhausting.
So he stopped fighting.
Stopped dreaming.
Stopped imagining little footsteps running through his house.
