Dr. Lopez explains the genetic testing process, and despite my exhaustion, I feel a wave of determination. Because of that Capex loan—the one we agonized over—we can move forward without financial constraint. At least not on this decision.
"Preimplantation genetic testing helps us identify chromosomal abnormalities," she explains gently. "We can select the healthiest embryos for transfer, which significantly reduces the risk of miscarriage."
Later, in the car heading home from the hospital, the silence between us stretches. I can feel Marcus's internal struggle like a third person in the car.
"You're having second thoughts," I say softly.
He exhales through his nose. "It just feels like we're playing God. Choosing which potential lives are 'worthy.' My dad called last night, asked me straight up—'Son, are you comfortable standing before the Lord knowing you picked and chose among His creations?'"
The question hangs between us like a challenge. "And what did you tell him?"
"I told him I'd pray about it," Marcus says, his voice barely audible. "But Aisha, when I do pray... I keep hearing my grandmother's voice. She used to say, 'The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.' What if we're supposed to accept what He gives us naturally, not manufacture it?"
I feel something crack inside my chest. "So you think we should just... give up? After everything?"
"I don't know what I think anymore," he admits, and there's pain in his voice. "I want this baby with you desperately. But I also want to honor God. And right now, those two things feel like they're pulling me in opposite directions."
I nod, trying to push down my frustration. "I understand that. But it's not about designing anything. We're trying to avoid more heartbreak. Another loss after everything we've been through."
"But maybe that's the point," he says quietly. "Maybe we're supposed to trust Him with the heartbreak too. Maybe our need to control this is actually a lack of faith."
The words hit me like a slap. "A lack of faith? Marcus, I have faith. I have faith that God gave doctors wisdom. I have faith that He led us here, to this choice, for a reason."
He's quiet for a long time. "When I pray about this, I keep hearing: trust. But I don't know if that means stepping back or stepping forward."
I reach for his hand. "Maybe trusting means using the tools we've been given and acting on the possibilities we fought to access. Maybe it's about believing God's hand is in the science too. "
He's quiet for a long moment, staring out at the Chicago skyline. "My dad keeps saying, 'If God wanted y'all to have children, He would have given them to you naturally.' And part of me..." His voice breaks slightly. "Part of me wonders if he's right."
"And the other part?"
He exhales slowly, voice low. "The other part remembers that God also gave doctors knowledge. Gave scientists wisdom. Maybe He works through them too." He turns to me, eyes searching. "I just need to know we're not running ahead of Him in our pain."
"So what do we do?"
"We pray. Really pray. Together. Before we sign anything, before we make any more decisions. If we're going to do this, it's not because I trust science more than God. It's because I believe God works through everything—including the freedom we fought to have."
"So do I," I whisper.
We sit with that understanding—not complete agreement, but holy middle ground.
Eventually, he nods. "Okay. If this gives us the best chance, and we can make the choice freely... I'm in. But we pray through every step."
"Deal."
Back in the clinic, we sign the consent forms with steadier hands than I expected. The debt looms, sure—but so does possibility. And choice. The choice Alabama tried to steal from us.
Dr. Lopez smiles warmly. "Now rest, Aisha. Let your body heal. We'll take excellent care of your embryos."
Outside, the Chicago sky is soft with evening light. For the first time in months, I feel something close to peace. Not because the path is simple—but because we chose it together, in a place that protects our right to choose.
A few weeks later, the genetic testing results arrive. Three embryos are chromosomally normal with excellent development. Our best chances, waiting in frozen storage until my body is ready.
"Are you ready to try again?" Dr. Lopez asks at our follow-up appointment.
I look at Marcus. He squeezes my hand.
"We are," we say together.