And just like that, Brett and Santana slipped back into their normal routines. The vibrant memories of their honeymoon were still fresh in their minds, but the realities of daily life beckoned. Each morning began with a shared breakfast, a quiet moment of connection before they went their separate ways to work. They cherished these small rituals, the comforting predictability of their routine a grounding contrast to the whirlwind of their recent adventures.
Brett walked into his workplace with a bounce in his step. The bright, sterile environment of the physical therapy clinic welcomed him back. He greeted the middle-aged receptionists with a wide grin, holding his hand to show off his wedding ring. "I'm officially off the market, ladies," he teased, earning a chorus of good-natured laughter and a few mock pouts. The camaraderie at the clinic was one of the things Brett loved most about his job. It felt like an extended family, a second home.
His first client of the day was an elderly man recovering from a hip replacement. As they worked through the exercises, Brett's mind wandered briefly to Santana, wondering how her day was going. They had returned from their honeymoon with a renewed sense of closeness, and even the smallest separations now felt significant.
Meanwhile, Santana had a slightly different day. She still worked as a project manager and architect but now for Miami's millionaires, her schedule allowed her to finish early today. It was a rare luxury, and she intended to make the most of it. She drove home, enjoying their neighborhood's sunshine and familiar sights. As she pulled into the parking garage, she felt a wave of contentment wash over her.
Once inside, Santana immediately set to work. She enjoyed cooking, finding it both a creative outlet and a way to unwind. She made Brett's favorite dish, chicken Alfredo, with a fresh salad on the side. As she moved around the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, she turned on the TV to continue the series they had been watching together. The familiar voices of the characters filled the room, a comforting background to her preparations.
As the aroma of dinner filled the house, Santana felt satisfied. She loved creating these moments for them, these pockets of peace in their busy lives. She set the table, dimmed the lights, and placed a couple of candles in the center, wanting to surprise Brett with a cozy, intimate dinner.
Brett arrived home just as Santana was finishing up. He stepped through the door, immediately enveloped in the warm, delicious smell of the food. "Something smells amazing" he called out, closing the door behind him and dropping his bag by the entrance.
Santana appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, a smile lighting up her face. "Welcome home," she said, moving towards him. They embraced, sharing a soft kiss, the comfort of their reunion palpable.
"I missed you," Brett murmured against her hair, squeezing her tightly. "Missed you too," Santana replied, pulling back to look at him. "Come on, dinner's ready."
They sat down at the table, Brett's eyes widening in appreciation at the spread before him. "This looks incredible, San," he said, reaching for her hand. "Thank you."
They ate slowly, savoring both the food and the time together. The series played softly in the background, but their conversation was the main focus. They talked about their days, sharing the small details that made up their worlds. Brett recounted a funny moment with one of his clients, while Santana shared her excitement about a new project she was working on.
After dinner, they moved to the living room, settling onto the couch with their dessert. The dim lighting created a cozy atmosphere as they nestled together. Brett pulled Santana close, his arm draped around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.
As they savored their dessert, a comfortable silence settled between them. The soft glow of the TV cast flickering shadows on the walls, adding to the peaceful ambiance of their evening. Santana took a deep breath, feeling the need to share something important. "Oh, before I forget" she began, her voice gentle, "Dr. Greene called me today."
Brett turned to look at her, his expression attentive. "What did she say?" he asked, his concern evident.
"She asked if we could go in next Thursday at 2 p.m. I said yes, so you'll have to ask to leave work early," Santana explained, trying to keep her tone light but unable to hide the slight edge of worry.
He nodded, his hand gently rubbing her arm in a reassuring gesture. "Please don't worry about this, Santana," he said softly. "It's out of your control, and it's probably nothing. Plus, I'd be very surprised if you're not pregnant from our honeymoon." He grinned, his teasing tone and playful smile breaking the tension. "I was starting to get a little sore," he added, making her laugh.
She playfully smacked his chest, shaking her head with a smile. "You always know how to lighten the mood," she said, her worry easing a bit at his comforting words. "That's my job," he replied, his expression softening as he looked at her. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what happens, we'll face it together."
The next few days passed in a blur of work and daily routines. Brett and Santana continued to find moments of connection amidst their busy schedules, cherishing the small, ordinary moments that made up their life together. They laughed, they shared their dreams, and they supported each other through the ups and downs.
Thursday arrived quickly, and the day of their appointment with Dr. Greene was upon them. Brett had arranged to leave work early, and they both felt a mixture of nervousness and anticipation as they made their way to the clinic. When they arrived, Brett walked up to the reception desk and, with a courteous smile, informed the receptionist, "My wife and I have an appointment with Dr. Greene."
The receptionist nodded and asked them to take a seat in the waiting room. Santana sat down, her fingers entwined with Brett's, her grip tightening now and then as they waited to be called. Brett squeezed back, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand, a silent gesture of support. The minutes felt like hours until finally, Dr. Greene appeared with a warm smile that was both professional and comforting.
"How are you both feeling today?" she asked, her tone gentle and soothing. "A little nervous," Santana admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at Brett, seeking reassurance, and he nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "That's completely normal," Dr. Greene replied, her expression kind and understanding. "Let's go to my office and discuss the results."
Once in her office, Dr. Greene began to explain how all the tests had come back, and they could now look at how to move forward. Both Brett and Santana nodded, hanging on to her every word. Dr. Greene handed Santana a paper with her results, a sheet filled with numbers and medical terms that made little sense to her. She handed a similar sheet to Brett.
"Santana, your labs and ultrasound came back normal. You have a very healthy cycle," Dr. Greene said with a reassuring smile. Brett turned to her, a confident smile on his face. "See, I told you not to worry," he said, sliding his hand onto her thigh in a comforting gesture.
Dr. Greene then turned her attention to Brett, her expression growing more serious but still gentle. "Brett, your semen sample indicates that you have a condition called Oligospermia."
Brett and Santana exchanged confused glances, both turning back to Dr. Greene with questioning eyes. "What?" Santana asked, her voice shaky. "What's that?"
"Oligospermia means that your semen has a lower than normal sperm count" Dr. Greene explained. "It's a condition that can make it more difficult to conceive naturally, but it doesn't mean it's impossible."
Santana shook her head, trying to process the information. "But Brett's only 25," she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you sure it's not me? I'm 33."
Dr. Greene shook her head gently. "We've thoroughly checked your results, Santana. Your reproductive health is excellent. Oligospermia can happen at any age and can be influenced by a variety of factors."
Santana slowly nodded, her gaze drifting to Brett. For the first time, she couldn't read his expression. He sat there quietly, his shock evident but his thoughts opaque. Her heart ached to see him so vulnerable.
"What now?" Santana asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What does this mean for us and Brett?"
Dr. Greene leaned forward, her demeanor supportive. "There are several options we can explore," she said. "Lifestyle changes, medications, and assisted reproductive technologies like IVF can all be effective. The important thing is to stay hopeful and supportive of each other through this process."
Brett finally spoke, his voice steady but laced with uncertainty. "What lifestyle changes should I consider?"
"Maintaining a healthy weight, reducing stress, loose clothing, no hot baths, avoiding smoking and alcohol, and eating a balanced diet can all help improve sperm count" Dr. Greene explained. "Regular exercise and avoiding exposure to harmful chemicals are also beneficial."
Brett nodded, absorbing the information. "Okay, I can do that," he said, determination edging into his voice. Santana reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "We'll do it together," she said softly. "Whatever it takes."
Dr. Greene continued, "I'd also recommend you start taking clomiphene, commonly known as Clomid. We'll run labs again in 12 weeks—blood tests and another semen sample. At that point, we can look at your progress and consider whether you need to persist in regular intercourse every 2-3 days, or if we should explore assisted reproductive technologies like IVF or ICSI. Remember, there are many options for us to consider here. There is sperm present, Brett" she emphasized, trying to inject some positivity into the situation.
Brett took a deep breath, nodding slowly as he absorbed the information. Santana, her eyes fixed on Brett's face, gently squeezed his hand. The weight of Dr. Greene's words hung in the air, blending hope with the stark reality of their situation.
They spent most of the drive home in contemplative silence, each lost in their thoughts until Brett broke it with a quiet, "Sorry." Santana turned to him, her brow furrowing in concern. "What?"
"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "For what?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. He didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The tension in the car grew thick, the silence oppressive. Santana reached out, touching his arm gently. "Brett, talk to me" she urged, but he stayed quiet for the rest of the journey, his jaw set in a hard line.
When they finally arrived back at their apartment, Brett walked in and immediately headed to the fridge, grabbing a cold water bottle. He twisted off the cap and took a long drink, his eyes distant and unfocused. Santana followed him, her worry deepening with each passing second.
She walked over and began rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. He sighed deeply, the tension in his shoulders not easing one bit. "Can I just have some space to think, Santana?" he asked, his tone strained.
She nodded, though her heart ached at the distance she felt growing between them. "Of course," she said softly, watching as he walked to their bedroom to get changed.
A few minutes later, he emerged, dressed in gym clothes. "I'll be back in a few hours," he said, his voice flat. Santana nodded again, not knowing what else to do. She watched as he left, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The silence in the apartment was deafening, and for the first time since they had begun this journey together, she felt utterly alone.
She sat down on the couch, her mind racing with worry and confusion. What had just happened? Why was Brett pulling away from her? They had always faced their challenges together, supporting each other through thick and thin. This sudden shift was both alarming and heartbreaking.
Santana tried to busy herself with mundane tasks around the apartment, but her mind kept drifting back to Brett. After what felt like an eternity, she finally sank back onto the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. She hugged herself, trying to find some comfort in the empty apartment.
Meanwhile, Brett drove aimlessly through the city, his mind a turbulent storm. He felt a crushing weight of guilt and inadequacy. The news from Dr. Greene had shaken him to his core. Oligospermia. A word that now felt like a sentence, a mark against his manhood. He had always envisioned a future with Santana filled with laughter, love, and children. The idea that he might be the one standing in the way of that dream was almost too much to bear.
He pulled over into a quiet park and got out of the car. The fresh air helped clear his mind a bit, but the heavy feeling in his chest remained. He found a secluded bench and sat down, putting his head in his hands.
Brett sat there for a long time, wrestling with his thoughts and emotions. He knew he needed to talk to Santana, to let her in on what he was going through, but the words felt stuck, lodged in his throat. He was scared—scared of her reaction, scared of what this meant for their future.
Eventually, as the sun began to set, he made his way back to the apartment. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the turmoil he felt inside. He took a deep breath before opening the apartment door.
Santana was sitting on the couch, looking up as he entered. Her eyes were filled with concern and an unspoken plea for understanding. Brett closed the door behind him and walked over, sitting down next to her. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking as tears rolled down his cheek.
Santana immediately pulled him into a hug, kissing the top of his head as he broke down in her arms. She held him tightly, her heart aching at the sight of his pain. She whispered soothing words, her hand gently stroking his back.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I feel like I've let you down," he admitted, his voice trembling. Santana's eyes softened with empathy. She pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. "Brett, you haven't done anything wrong," she said softly.
"I have" he insisted, his voice raw with emotion. "All I wanted to do was make you happy, give you love and a family, and I can't do that. I've failed as a husband and a man."
She cut him off gently, placing a hand on his cheek. "Brett, you have not failed anyone. You gave me everything I wanted and more. Remember when we had our first baby talk and you said that if having a family isn't in the cards for us, that it was okay? Well, it still is okay" she said, her voice firm yet tender. "We will have a baby, Brett. We just need a little science and help."
Brett wiped his eyes, a glimmer of hope mingling with his sorrow. "I'll understand if you want a divorce and to be with someone who can give you a baby," he said his voice barely a whisper. Santana shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Stop," she said firmly. "I want you and only you, no matter what. You're the love of my life. Don't push me away, Brett. Let me help you and help us."
Brett looked at her, he had feared losing her, but here she was, standing by his side with unwavering support. He pulled her close again, holding her tightly. They sat there for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, drawing strength from their connection.
In the days that followed, they took steps to address Brett's condition. They researched lifestyle changes that could improve his sperm count and implemented them into their daily routines. Brett started taking Clomid as recommended by Dr. Greene, and they scheduled follow-up appointments to monitor his progress.
Santana was by Brett's side every step of the way, offering encouragement and support. She made sure he ate a balanced diet, helped him manage stress, and joined him in regular exercise. They worked as a team, and their bond grew even stronger as they faced this challenge together.
The initial weeks were tough, filled with uncertainty and moments of doubt. But they found solace in each other, their love providing a constant source of strength. They talked openly about their fears and hopes, never shying away from the difficult conversations. Their communication became even more vital, helping them navigate the emotional ups and downs of their journey.
As time passed, Brett's confidence slowly began to return. He saw the positive impact of the changes they were making, and the support from Santana never wavered. They continued to share moments of joy and laughter, finding happiness in the small victories along the way.
Brett walked into the dimly lit sports bar, the vibrant hum of conversation and the flicker of TV screens instantly enveloping him. The air was thick with the aroma of fried food and the tang of spilled beer, a familiar and comforting backdrop to a long-overdue catch-up with his brother. Sam was already seated at a corner table, two frothy beers waiting on the wooden surface.
As Brett approached, Sam greeted him with a wide grin. "Hey, man! I got us started with some wings—buffalo and whiskey black pepper. Hope you're hungry."
Brett took a seat, gratefully accepting one of the beers and taking a long sip. The cold liquid was refreshing, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions he'd been navigating lately. He took a moment to savor the drink before responding. "Thanks, Sam. I've been looking forward to this."
Sam took a swig of his beer, his gaze shifting from the wings to Brett. "So, how's married life treating you? Must be pretty great, right?" Brett's smile faltered slightly, his mind drifting to the reality of the past few weeks. "It's... okay. Santana's out tonight with some girls from work."
Sam's brows knitted together in confusion. "Just okay? I thought you'd be on cloud nine, considering everything." Brett sighed, his fingers absently twisting the beer bottle in his hand. "I was, but things took a turn. I found out I'm pretty much infertile."
The waitress chose that exact moment to arrive, setting down the steaming plate of wings with a cheerful "Here you go, gentlemen!" before retreating to the bar. Sam's eyes widened, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. He stared at Brett, his mouth slightly agape. "I'm sorry, what? What do you mean?"
Brett took a bite of a wing, the spicy sauce tangling with his taste buds. He chewed thoughtfully before responding, his voice tinged with frustration and resignation. "My swimmers aren't swimming," he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he wiped his hands on a napkin.
Sam's expression was a blend of surprise and concern. "Wow, Brett. I... I'm sorry, man. Are you sure? Maybe you should see a doctor or something."
Brett nodded, his demeanor heavy with the weight of the news. "We've already been to a clinic. It's me. They ran all the tests, and the result was pretty clear. Santana and I have been trying for over a year now, and it's just not happening."
Sam's face grew solemn as he processed the information. "Damn, man. That's rough. Have you told Mom and Dad?" Brett shook his head, looking down at his beer. "No. I didn't know how to tell them. It's... hard to talk about." Sam's eyes softened with sympathy. "Yeah, I can imagine. Is it genetic? I mean, do you think it could be something you inherited?"
Brett shrugged, a mixture of uncertainty and frustration on his face. "I don't know. The doctor didn't mention anything about it being genetic. It could be. It's just one of those things that happens, I guess."
The two brothers fell into a contemplative silence, the clamor of the bar around them a stark contrast to the quiet gravity of their conversation. Sam poked at his wings, his mind racing with a hundred thoughts. "Have you and Santana talked about your options? I mean, there's still a lot you can do, right? Adoption, Surrogate, all that stuff."
Brett nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the half-empty beer in his hand. "Yeah, we've talked about it. Santana's been incredibly supportive, more than I could have hoped for. We're considering our options, but it's just... a lot to take in."
Sam leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting Brett's with a mix of empathy and resolve. "You're going through a tough time, Brett. But you're not alone in this. You've got Santana by your side, and you've got family who loves you. It's okay to lean on us, you know."
Brett managed a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Sam. I know. It's just hard to see a future that's different from what I envisioned. I wanted to give Santana everything, and now I feel like I'm falling short."
Sam reached over, placing a comforting hand on Brett's shoulder. His gesture was simple yet full of warmth, a brotherly act that spoke volumes. "You're not falling short, Brett. Life doesn't always go as planned, but that doesn't mean it's not worth living. You and Santana will figure this out, and whatever happens, you'll face it together. And if you need anything—talk, advice, just a beer—I'm here."
Brett met his brother's gaze, a mix of gratitude and relief washing over him. The support felt like a lifeline amidst the storm of emotions he'd been grappling with. "Thanks. I appreciate that" Brett said, managing a small, genuine smile.
He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. "I actually shouldn't be drinking beer at all or having wings with all this talk about lifestyle changes. Guess I'm not exactly following the doctor's orders, huh?"
Sam laughed, shaking his head. "One night won't hurt, Brett. Besides, it's not like you're making a habit of it. Sometimes you just need to enjoy yourself a little, especially with everything you've been dealing with."
The conversation gradually shifted as they continued to eat and drink, the weight of their earlier discussion easing into a more casual, comforting rhythm. The bar's lively atmosphere provided a pleasant backdrop, a reminder that life's challenges could still be accompanied by moments of simple pleasure.
"How's Kitty, by the way?" Brett asked, taking a sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair. Sam's face brightened with a smile at the mention of his longtime girlfriend. "She's good," Sam replied, his eyes softening with affection. "Busy with work and her art classes."
Brett grinned, his thoughts momentarily shifting from his troubles. "That's great to hear. So, when are you finally going to pop the question?" Sam's expression turned thoughtful, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. He seemed to momentarily lose himself in thought before focusing back on Brett. "I've been thinking about it. We've been together for a while now, longer than you and Santana. I guess I'm just waiting for the right moment. You know how it is—wanting everything to be perfect."
Brett nodded, understanding all too well the pressures that came with such a significant step. "Yeah, I get it. But sometimes the right moment is just the one you make for yourself. You don't need everything to be perfect to take that leap."
Sam took a swig of his beer, contemplating Brett's words. "True. It's just... I want it to be special for her. I don't want to mess it up, you know?"
Brett reached over and clapped Sam on the back. "You won't mess it up. You know her better than anyone, and if you're doing it out of love, she's going to appreciate it no matter what."
As the evening wore on, Brett and Sam continued to enjoy their time together. They talked about the ups and downs of their respective careers, their favorite TV shows, and upcoming sports events. Brett found himself laughing more freely than he had in weeks, the burden of his recent struggles momentarily lifted by the comforting presence of his brother and the familiar comfort of their shared experiences.
As they wrapped up their night, Sam picked up the check and they both stood, stretching slightly as they prepared to leave. "You sure you're okay?" Sam asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. Brett gave him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Tonight helped more than you know. Thanks for being here, Sam."
Sam slapped him on the back with a grin. "Anytime. And don't forget—if you need to talk or just need a night out, I'm always around." Brett nodded, feeling a renewed sense of appreciation for his brother.