Leaning over the plastic stick, I sighed. I examined it from different angles, put it up against the light of a lamp, exposed it to direct sunlight. But still, no second line was visible. The test was negative. It was the fifth pregnancy test I had taken that morning.
My husband walked by me in the hall and noticed me holding the test. ?You have to stop this! This is insane!? he said, looking exasperated. Having witnessed the same sad scene countless times before?he?d even examined a few sticks himself?he was done.
I told him to leave me alone, and he closed the door, shaking his head at me. I knew he was right. This was insane. Trying to conceive had become an obsession, an all-consuming addiction that was taking over my marriage and affecting my life. No one knew the extent of it or how deep I had fallen down the rabbit hole. I still had two more pregnancy tests hidden in my purse, and I would take them both in secret later that day.

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