I (34F) always been open about not wanting to have biological children. At 29, I had to undergo a hysterectomy due to severe endometriosis. It was traumatic, but I made peace with it.

My parents never took it well. I think they always believed I’d change my mind, marry a man, “miraculously” have a baby, and give them grandchildren. When that didn’t happen, they started pulling away — subtle at first, then more overt.

Last month, my brother casually mentioned he and his wife would be inheriting everything. I was confused, so I asked my parents. That’s when my mom told me straight up, “You chose a lifestyle that ends with you. What’s the point of passing things to you? You’re a dead end!”

I was stunned. Like my entire value was boiled down to my uterus. When I told them how hurtful and backwards that was, they just said I was being overly sensitive and selfish. That it’s their right to do what they want with their estate, and that “you wouldn’t understand the importance of legacy.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I just smiled, pulled out an envelope, and placed it on the table. “Take a look,” I said.

My parents leaned in. Photo after photo: a tiny newborn swaddled in pink, wide curious eyes. Me holding her, smiling. Her name spelled out in wood above a crib — Eleanor.