My 18-year-old son moved into an apartment with his childhood best friend. I thought they were prepared to handle life independently. But only two days later, Wyatt returned home in tears. He locked the door and whispered, “Mom, there’s something I need to tell you. Please don’t call Austin.” Then he gave me a document he’d discovered at Austin’s house, and what I read nearly made me collapse.

“I grew tired of waiting around for the right guy to show up, so I treated the donor catalog like a mail order clothing brochure,” Megan joked during our first circle meeting.

We became inseparable almost immediately, sharing lunches, shopping for maternity clothes, and calling each other late at night to talk about our anxieties.

Our due dates were barely two weeks apart in March.

During our fifth group meeting, the counselor asked each mother to share a few details about the donor profile she had chosen.

Megan raised her hand first, chuckling about how her donor was a six foot two chemistry graduate who enjoyed carpentry and working with timber.

I sat frozen on my metal chair, feeling the room tilt beneath me.

Right after the meeting ended, I rushed out into the parking lot and grabbed Megan’s arm beside her car.v“Megan, what was your donor number at the clinic?” I asked with my voice shaking uncontrollably.