The egg donor

Dear Stranger,

My name is Anna, and I am the mother of your daughter.

I hope this letter finds you in good health and surrounded by love. I know that reaching you through these words may never be possible, but I need to share something that weighs heavily on my heart and has been a constant companion through some of the most profound moments of my life. I want to tell you my story, though I’m not sure you will ever read it. I hope that, somehow, it will reach you, if only through the ether of heartfelt emotions.

I imagine you must be wondering why a woman you’ve never met is writing to you. Please understand that this letter comes not out of obligation but from the deepest, most sincere gratitude. Yet, I must admit that there were moments when I felt a profound anger towards you.

Years ago, my husband and I embarked on a journey to build our family. We were young, in love, and brimming with dreams of a home filled with laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet. But life had a different plan. After countless miscarriages, each one stripping away a piece of my hope, I found myself with no more tears left to shed for my losses. We faced the crushing reality that I couldn’t carry a child. The doctors spoke in terms I couldn’t grasp, their words about complex issues and treatments mercilessly shattering our dreams like glass on the floor.

I remember that day with piercing clarity. I sat in the small examination room, my husband beside me, gripping my hand with a desperation that mirrored my own. The silence was suffocating, and the doctor’s words seemed to reverberate through the very air. "Surrogacy or egg donation might be your best options," he suggested matter-of-factly.

I was devastated. A surge of bile soured my throat, and I choked on my own fury. The egg of another woman! How could I possibly entertain the idea of nurturing a life that wouldn’t be mine in the most intimate way?

I rushed to the clinic’s bathroom, clutching my hands to my mouth to stifle my sobs. I turned on the cold water and splashed it on my face, attempting in vain to wash away my anger. As I looked into the bathroom mirror, I saw a woman with large, brown eyes brimming with tears. My usually cute button nose was blotched, and my chestnut hair hung in damp, disheveled strands. Another wave of rage hardened my eyes. My baby wouldn’t inherit my features, my laughter, my love for unripened bananas, or my musical ear.

"How can any woman do this?" I wondered aloud, my voice trembling with frustration and despair.

The months that followed felt like wandering through an endless maze with no exit in sight. It took nearly a year for me to release the bitterness and come to terms with the role you would play in my life.

Now, I know that your decision to donate your eggs has bestowed upon us the greatest gift we could ever receive.

The day our little girl was born was one of the happiest moments of my life. I remember the overwhelming emotions as I held her for the first time. Her tiny fingers wrapped around mine, and I was flooded with a sense of pure, unadulterated love. She was perfect in every way, with eyes that seemed to hold the entire universe and a laugh that could light up the darkest room.

I often find myself looking at her, marveling at the miracle she is. A pang of anger still rises when I wonder if she has your eyes or your smile, if she inherited any part of you. Questions linger in my mind, but I try not to let them reach my heart. Strangely enough, she does have my musical ear.

My husband always says that your selfless act has shaped our lives in ways that are beyond measure. It’s not just about the physical act of donation but the incredible gift of hope and possibility you’ve given us. You’ve allowed us to experience the joy of parenthood, to create a family, and to give our daughter a life filled with love and opportunities.

In the quiet moments when I rock our daughter to sleep, I think about you. I wonder why you made this choice—was it strength, courage, or desperation that drove you? I think about how you chose to remain in the background.

There are days when I struggle with the weight of it all. It feels like a precious burden, one that I carry with me every day. I feel as though I should prove that I am worthy of this gift. I also want to honor your gift, not just by being a good mother, but by living a life filled with kindness and compassion.

I also want to share with you that our journey didn’t end with our daughter’s birth. Parenthood is a road filled with challenges and triumphs, and every step of the way reminds us of the precious gift we’ve been given. From the sleepless nights to the laughter and milestones, every moment is a testament to the incredible decision you made.

Our daughter is growing up so fast. She is curious and bright, with boundless energy that keeps us on our toes. She’s learning about the world and dancing every step she takes. We are so proud of her and of the person she is becoming. She has brought so much joy into our lives, and every day is a reminder of how lucky we are.

There are times when I wish I could look into your eyes to see if they look like hers, but also to tell you how profoundly you have impacted our lives. But since that is not possible, I hope these words will suffice.

If I could, I would tell you that your choice has not only changed our lives but, over time, has also inspired me to be a better person.

As I write this, tears well up in my eyes. They are tears of joy, of gratitude, and of awe at the beautiful journey that has unfolded because of you.

I hope that wherever you are, you find happiness and fulfillment. I hope you are surrounded by love and joy, and that you know, even though we may never meet, you have made an indelible mark on our lives.

With deepest gratitude and all my heart,

Anna

For Anna, the act of writing the letter was a form of catharsis, a way to honor the extraordinary gift she had received and to express her deepest thanks. The journey of becoming a mother had been fraught with challenges, but it had also been filled with moments of profound beauty.

In the quiet of her home, as she looked around at the warm, loving space they had created for their family, Anna felt a sense of peace.

Across town, on Broadway, in a brightly lit dressing room, Sal meticulously applied thick makeup to his smooth cheeks. The room was a cacophony of vibrant colors, scattered costumes, and the murmur of bustling stagehands. Sal's fingers, dexterous from years of honing his craft, worked with practiced precision. Despite the whirlwind of activity around him, there was a focused calm in his movements. He adjusted the delicate brush, blending hues to perfect the illusion of high cheekbones and full lips.

Funny how life deals you cards you'd never expect. Sal had spent years fighting against the confines of his body, struggling to become a man in a world that seemed intent on defining him by his past. He had faced countless obstacles, endured unending scrutiny, and battled with an identity that often felt at odds with his true self. But tonight, all of that would take a backseat to his role in the limelight. Tonight, he was about to play the part of a mother on one of Broadway’s grandest stages.

The irony was not lost on him. His first major role, the one that would introduce him to audiences far and wide, was as the female lead—a mother who navigates the trials of raising a child alone. Sal had never imagined this would be his breakthrough role. After all the surgeries, the hormone treatments, and the profound soul-searching that had brought him to this point, the prospect of portraying motherhood felt like a universe-flipping twist of fate.