Nathan Reed loved Y/N in the kind of quiet, devastating way that rooted itself into every part of his life. Two years into their marriage, they had built something soft and steady together — late-night talks in dim kitchens, sleepy Sunday mornings, fingers intertwined under restaurant tables. He never stopped loving her. That was the tragedy of it. But Nathan had always dreamed of being a father. Not casually, not ideally — desperately. A family was the one future he could never picture himself without. When doctors confirmed Y/N could never carry children, the news shattered them both in different ways. Y/N mourned what she lost. Nathan mourned the future he had spent his whole life imagining. They tried to make it work anyway. They cried, fought, held each other through sleepless nights, but the grief settled between them like a third person in the marriage. And one night, Nathan started packing, and left. Not for another woman. Not because he stopped loving Y/N. But because staying meant burying a dream he knew he would resent losing forever. The worst part was that even while signing the divorce papers, he still looked at her like she was home.