During the summer of my sophomore year in college, my 58-year-old mom decided to undergo IVF treatment. She said she wanted to give me a little brother, someone I could rely on in the future. After I convinced her not to go through with it, my parents and my cousin became godparents to my little cousin, bought him a house and a car, but refused to spend a dime on me when I was critically ill in the ICU. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the Thanksgiving Family Dinner. This time, I smiled and said, “Whatever you and Dad think is best.” I woke up and realized I had returned to that Thanksgiving Family Dinner. Uncle Thomas, mouth full of food, was still going on about his outdated ideas. “I’m telling you, a man’s gotta have a son! No matter how good daughters are, they’re not going to be the ones carrying on your name, right?” He kept talking, saying that now the laws had relaxed, and with how advanced medical science had become, IVF was a great way to ensure a son and secure their legacy for old age. Most of the relatives thought he was joking. They tried to dissuade him. “You’re 65 now, Thomas. Your daughter has her own family and career. You’ll be holding grandkids soon enough, so why chase after all this drama?” Uncle Thomas stood his ground. “Grandkids? They don’t even have my last name! If I don’t have a son, the Cross family line ends with me!” My dad looked tempted. “You’ve got a point, but are you and Linda even still able to have kids at your age?” Uncle Thomas replied confidently, “I’ve done my research. The IVF technology today is incredible. Not only can you still have a kid, but you can make sure it’s a son!” Then he turned to me. “Hannah, wouldn’t it be great if your parents gave you a little brother? You wouldn’t have to worry about not having family to look out for you!” He had asked me the same thing in my previous life. I looked at my father, who was starting to get excited, and patiently explained. Older women face a higher risk of pregnancy complications like high blood pressure and gestational diabetes. Not to mention, as age increases, the quality of eggs and sperm deteriorates, making it more likely that the fertilized egg will have chromosomal abnormalities. Even if they managed to conceive, the baby would have a higher chance of being born prematurely or developing issues like cerebral palsy or neurological disorders. Dad stayed silent. Mom, who looked a little nervous, tugged on his sleeve and shook her head. With my reasoning, they let go of the idea of pursuing IVF. But Uncle Thomas? He was determined. Two years later, he proudly showed off his big baby boy, born through IVF, at the family reunion, grinning ear to ear as relatives congratulated him. “Little brother, don’t worry! Now that I’ve got a son, the Cross family won’t die out. Be good to your nephew, and maybe when he’s older, he’ll take care of you too!” He laughed, slapping my dad on the shoulder, completely ignoring the dark look that spread across my father’s face. From that day, Dad began subtly blaming me. He said I was selfish, afraid that having a brother would mean sharing the inheritance, so I convinced him not to have one. Mom, too, resented me, saying I’d scared her with all that talk about the risks of having kids at her age, pointing out how Uncle Thomas and Aunt Linda’s son was perfectly healthy. They couldn’t comprehend the concept of probability. All I could do was silently endure their criticism. I thought that in time, my actions would prove to them that it didn’t matter whether they had a son or daughter. But what I didn’t expect was for them to start frequenting the hospital, trying to have a son just like Uncle Thomas. After numerous rounds of hormone treatments and egg retrieval attempts, they finally had to face the truth: Mom’s eggs were no longer viable. I thought that was the end of it. But then, I was in a car accident, left critically injured in the ICU, waiting for them to pay for the life-saving treatment. That’s when I found out the truth. They had made my three-year-old cousin, Nathan, their godson, using all their savings to buy him a house near Cedar Hills Elementary School. They didn’t pay a single cent towards my medical bills. Not even a visit. In my last phone call with them, their cold, heartless words became the final straw that broke me. “Stop calling us so much. We’re busy dropping off your little brother at daycare!” “You’re practically dead already. Don’t waste our money—we need it for Nathan!” So, they had abandoned me. Thinking of all this, I turned to Uncle Thomas with a smile and said, “You’ve lived long enough to know best, Uncle Thomas. Of course, Mom and Dad should make the decision.” He was pleased with my response and patted Dad’s shoulder, laughing. “Hannah is much more sensible than my daughter. How about this—we brothers can both go for another kid, and maybe I can even get the hospital to give us a discount!” Well, let’s see how that ‘precious son’ of yours takes care of you in your old age this time.
After the dinner ended, Mom and Dad held a family meeting back at home. “Hannah,” Dad started, snubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Your uncle said IVF will cost about $100,000 altogether, and if we want to guarantee it’s a boy, we’ll need to pull some strings, which might push it to $150,000. Your mom and I don’t have much savings, but we can scrape enough together for that. From next semester on, you’ll need to handle your own living expenses.” I didn’t reply right away. I glanced over at Mom, who was busy listening to a voice message on her phone. She set her phone down, her face serious. “I asked some friends. Since you’re a med student, you’ll be doing a hospital internship in your junior year, right? You’ll get a stipend. You’re in school all the time anyway, so you won’t need much money. Don’t add more burden to us.” “And besides,” she added, “we’re spending this money now so we can give you a brother. When he grows up, you’ll have someone from the family to rely on!” I nearly laughed out loud. How could they expect me to rely on a child when I couldn’t even count on my own parents? In my previous life, they feared the risks I’d mentioned and didn’t go through with IVF. But they held onto their resentment. After that Thanksgiving dinner, they cut off my living and tuition funds, claiming they needed to save for retirement. At the time, I thought they were just angry for a while. After all, I was their daughter, the one they had raised for twenty years. To make ends meet, I worked part-time during the day and tutored kids at night. My grades plummeted, and I almost flunked out by the end of the semester. This time, I wouldn’t let history repeat itself. I smiled and nodded. “Got it. I hope everything works out for you.”
A few days after returning to school, Mom called. “Hannah, your dad and I went to the hospital today. The doctor said your father’s sperm is still okay, even though the DNA fragmentation and abnormality rates are a little high. But my eggs aren’t great. We’ll need third-generation IVF, which will cost even more.” “So, try to pick up more tutoring jobs or a part-time waitress gig. Save up some money and send it to me. Your aunt told me I should be eating health foods like those organic smoothies to improve my eggs.” It was just like last time. When I had refused to let her go through with IVF, she’d constantly called me, complaining about headaches or fevers, and demanded that I work more to send her money for supplements. I had sympathized with her then, figuring Dad’s old-fashioned ways left her feeling unsupported. I always found a way to send her money, no matter how tight things were for me. But now, I stretched, feeling no such sympathy, and replied casually, “Mom, I have way more coursework this year and barely any time for a side job. And at the hospital, they only give us free housing and meals—no pay. I’m almost out of money myself. Can you send me $500?” Her voice became evasive. “Oh, well, I don’t have any money either! Your dad controls the finances, and it’s all going towards the IVF. If you need money, talk to him!” Before I could say anything else, she hung up. I set my phone aside and got back to my PowerPoint. After all, my new hustle of creating medical case presentations was bringing in $500 a pop.
Mom still got her organic smoothies. She took pictures of it from every angle, posting a nine-grid photo collage to her Instagram account: “Thanks to my wonderful Thomas for buying me this special smoothie! My son will definitely make it into my womb now!” She promised to take good care of her health and soon give my father the son he needed to carry on the Cross name. In the comments, some people congratulated her, while others weren’t so kind. “Aren’t you almost 60? Why go through all this?” “No offense, but your husband’s 62 too. There’s no way the kid will be healthy at your age.” Mom, furious, blocked them and swore she’d give birth to a healthy son. I quietly liked the post and turned off my phone. This was only the beginning.
Over the next two months, Mom was constantly posting updates in the family group and on her social media. “Went to the hospital for bloodwork today. They took tube after tube, but it’s all worth it for my future son!” “Starting the hormone shots today. Gotta eat more meat and keep my strength up so I can get some good eggs!” “Finally doing the egg retrieval! Wish me luck!” After that last post, her updates suddenly stopped. Three days later, I received a video call from her. On the other end of the call, her face was pale, and she looked both angry and confused. Seeing her like that, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity. “Mom, what happened? You don’t look well.” Tears started streaming down her face. “Hannah, what am I supposed to do?” “The doctor said my eggs are completely useless! That egg retrieval needle—do you know how long it was? Thirty centimeters! Your dad didn’t want to pay for anesthesia, so I went through the whole thing wide awake! It was more painful than when I gave birth to you!” “I suffered through all that, and then they told me my eggs are no good! But your Aunt Linda is three years older than me, and her eggs were just fine. Why?!”
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