When Steve and I married 16 years ago, I believed in a marriage built on love and support. We had five amazing daughters, but Steve was fixated on having a son. His obsession grew, making our home feel heavy with disappointment.
He was often away for work, leaving me to manage everything alone. Even when he was around, he felt distant—emotionally and physically. One night, a conversation about trying for a son turned ugly. Steve snapped, blaming me for never giving him a boy, saying he wished he could undo everything. His words cut deep.
The next day, our 12-year-old daughter Lisa went missing. A ransom note arrived, demanding money for her return. Panic took over. Steve was devastated, suddenly realizing what truly mattered. We paid the ransom and, thankfully, Lisa came back safe.
That moment changed everything. Steve finally saw the damage his obsession had caused. He started to show up—for me and for our daughters. We began to heal as a family, learning that love, not gender, defines a legacy.