He cheated then asked me to close the door on motherhood forever.

We have a three-year-old son. He’s bright, full of energy, and the sweetest little soul. I love him more than I ever thought possible. But the early days of his life weren’t how I imagined they’d be. In fact, looking back, they feel like a foggy dream I barely lived through.

When I was pregnant, we made a mutual decision: one and done. It seemed like the practical choice at the time. My pregnancy was difficult, both physically and mentally. I was constantly exhausted, nauseated for months, and just overwhelmed. My husband, who’s now 41, didn’t want to be an “old dad” and since he grew up as an only child, he was already used to the idea of a small family. I agreed—not because I didn’t want more kids, but because I was in survival mode.

Then came the real blow. When our son was just six months old, my husband confessed that he’d been having an affair for nearly five months. He said he was sorry. Said he felt trapped and lost after becoming a dad. Said he needed an escape and didn't know how to handle the changes. He admitted it on his own—there was no dramatic discovery or confrontation. Just a quiet, tearful confession on a Sunday afternoon.

That moment shattered everything.

The next year was a blur. We separated for a while. Went through therapy, both as a couple and individually. I questioned everything—my worth, my marriage, my ability to parent. I was so focused on holding things together for our son that I lost pieces of myself along the way.

I remember planning our son’s first birthday party while researching divorce lawyers in another tab. We had a nanny back then because I was barely functioning, and sometimes it felt like she was more of a parent than I was. I felt like I missed his babyhood completely. The newborn cuddles, the sleepy nursing sessions, the bonding—I was present, but not there.

Fast forward to now. Things have stabilized between my husband and me. We’ve worked hard to rebuild trust. It’s not perfect, but it’s better. And then something happened that stirred up feelings I thought I’d buried.

My sister had a baby girl about a year ago. Every time we visit her—she lives three states away—our son lights up. He’s completely in love with his little cousin. He begs to FaceTime her, talks about her constantly, and every time we leave, he cries. He keeps asking if he’ll ever get a baby sister of his own. And the thing is… I’ve started wondering the same.

I never imagined this would be a question again, but here it is, sitting on my heart.

Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s emotional—but I want to relive what I lost. I want a second chance at the newborn stage, the bonding, the joy without the trauma and betrayal looming over me. I want to give my son a sibling—someone to grow up with, someone to lean on. I always dreamed of having a daughter. Not as a replacement or a fix, but as an expansion of this love I’ve come to know as a mother.

So, I brought it up to my husband.

He was firm. No. Absolutely not.

He reminded me of our agreement and said I should go ahead and get my tubes tied, like we’d previously discussed when I was overwhelmed by pregnancy. He’s done. He feels like he gave everything he had during that messy period and doesn’t want to go through any of it again.

I understand where he’s coming from. I really do. But what I don’t understand is how he expects me to stay locked in a promise I made when I was drowning—especially after everything that’s happened since. That agreement came before the betrayal. Before the therapy. Before the heartbreak. Before the healing.

A lot has changed.

I’m not saying having another baby will solve anything. I’m not naive. But this time, we’re financially stable. We still keep in touch with the nanny who could help again. I’m in a stronger place emotionally. I’m not the broken woman I was back then.

I haven’t made a decision yet, and I’m not rushing into one. But what hurts is that he’s shutting down the conversation entirely. There’s no space for me to even feel differently. And worse, he’s asking me to make a permanent decision about my body—something as irreversible as getting my tubes tied—based on an agreement made in the middle of a storm.

That doesn’t feel fair.

I’m not sure what comes next. I’m not even sure how to talk to him about it again without it turning into another wall between us. But deep down, I know this isn’t just about wanting another child. It’s about reclaiming a piece of myself. It’s about acknowledging how far I’ve come. And it’s about being honest—with him, and with myself.

So how do I explain that to the man who broke my heart and still expects me to seal away this chapter of my life for good?