My best friend can't get pregnant. It's been over 10 years of tears, doctors, screenings, only to hear that there is no evidence of a treatable reason for their infertility. At one point they were involved in the adoption process, but even that fell through. Her and her husband have submitted to the notion of being childless time and time again only to give it another go - and come out heartbroken again. Their latest venture, IVF, has now gone without a viable pregnancy.

Our calls over the past decade have varied greatly. She will be hopeful and happy, and chat about where to put a crib. She will sob and feel like a female failure. She will take up running (again) and regain her body after hormone injections. She had a stretch of feeling content with being childless, and basked in the idea of romantic vacations with her husband. Then she would be bombarded with questions and pressure from others, and the cycle would begin again.

I listened. I cried - and I feel heavy with guilt.

Enormous and apologetic guilt.

I was content to not have children. I would have been happy with my life never being called mom. This was solidified when I was diagnosed in my early 20s with endometriosis and told it would be unlikely I would have children. I was content with a future that did not include offspring.

I was not happily married when I became pregnant. I was happily coupled, but I was not in a situation that would be deemed by most as appropriate to add a child into. When it came time to tell my best friend that I had somehow accidentally accomplished something she had been working so hard for - my heart broke. I waited until I couldn't anymore and called her tearfully. I apologized over and over again. It felt like I not only let her down, but rubbed her reality in her face. She was so gracious. She took the news with an overly brave face and embraced my new son as if nothing she had battled even existed. She sits on the floor and plays with him, like any other "good aunt" would do.

But then I will receive a text - one that has her all too familiar sobbing undertones - the IVF didn't take. She begs me not to call her, and asks just to have some personal time. I get it. I wouldn't want to talk to me either.

But, we go on. We have known each other for almost 20 years, and I imagine we will be close for at least 20 more. Somehow, I believe that this will someday be resolved for her, and perhaps my guilt will subside. Until then, I will hold on to my guilt ridden friendship in the hopes that it will be the sacrifice that brings to fruition a baby for my childless best friend.