In a quiet, ugly way.
He started drinking at night—just a little at first, then more, then enough to make mornings feel heavier.
One afternoon, while taking Ivonne to a follow-up appointment, Terrence finally got his own medical truth shoved in his face.
The doctor reviewed old notes, asked questions, and then looked at him carefully.
“There are unresolved signs here,” the doctor said. “You should have had a fertility workup a long time ago.”
Terrence frowned. “What are you saying?”
The doctor didn’t sugarcoat it.
“I’m saying there may be a male-factor issue affecting your ability to father children naturally. And if you ignored it for years, you may have lost valuable time.”
Terrence went still.
Because now the truth had a white coat on.
Now the truth had no gossip, no church whisper, no maybe.
It was real.
And it was too late.
