My name is Rachel.
I work from home as a freelance writer, a profession that gives me the quiet solitude I have come to love.
I am now nine months pregnant, and the gentle kicks and movements in my belly constantly remind me of how much I am looking forward to meeting my baby.
My husband, David, is a sales manager at an IT company, a man whose kindness has become the foundation of my world.
We have been married for two years, and every day is filled with a happiness I once thought impossible.
But the road here was not easy.
Eight years ago, I was married to someone else.
My ex-husband, Michael, was the head of a large financial firm, and even then, his whole life revolved around work.
When we first got married, I was attracted to his seriousness and sincerity; I truly believed that we would have a wonderful life.
But the reality turned out to be a cold, empty house.
Michael left at seven in the morning and returned after one in the morning.
On weekends, he had business dinners and golf.
I spent my days alone, eating dinner in front of the television, and the silence of the big house became my constant companion.
‘I feel like I’m married to myself,’ I complained to my friends.
I put up with it for three years.
But one day I saw a photo that came to Michael’s phone.
In it, he was standing next to some woman, hugging her, as if in a hotel lobby.
My heart froze.
Everything I believed in collapsed in an instant.
When I showed him the photo, Michael didn’t try to justify himself.
He just looked tired and said, ‘I’m sorry.’
That was the end of it.
We signed the divorce papers and went our separate ways, and for five years he remained just a ghost — a painful part of my past.
A year after the divorce, I was drowning in loneliness.
The wounds in my heart would not heal.
One day, sitting in my favourite café, I struck up a conversation with a man at the next table.
It was David.
‘You look like you’ve been through a lot,’ he said, looking at me with warm eyes, as if offering me a lifeline.
‘You’re not alone.’
Those simple words brought tears to my eyes.
David didn’t demand anything — he just listened.
He became my friend, a reliable person who supported me without judgement.
Over time, we fell in love.
David was the perfect man I had always dreamed of.
Even when work was stressful, he always came home early.
Every evening at dinner, he would ask, ‘Rachel, how was your day?’
When I got pregnant, he became even more caring.
If I tried to lift something heavy, he would immediately take it from me.
When I suffered from morning sickness, he would rub my back until the nausea passed.
I felt that I had finally found true, unconditional happiness.
But there was one small thing that bothered me a little.
David avoided any conversation about Michael.
At first, I didn’t think much of it.
Of course, I wanted to forget about my ex-husband too.
But recently, when a friend mentioned that she had bumped into Michael, David’s expression changed.
‘You’d better forget about him,’ he said, a little sharply.
He’s probably just worried about me, I thought.
He doesn’t want me to dwell on the past.
David is such a caring person.
The baby moved in my belly, as if to reassure me.
Soon we would meet.
David, the baby and me.
Our new family life would begin.
A happy future was just around the corner.
The past no longer mattered.
I had David.
And that was enough.
Three days before giving birth, around two in the morning, I woke up with a dull, aching pain in my lower abdomen.
At first, I thought I was imagining it, but a few minutes later, the pain returned — stronger.
This is it.
Labour has begun.
‘David,’ I shook his shoulder.
‘It hurts. Wake up.’
He jumped up immediately, his eyes clearing with adrenaline.
‘It’s okay. We’re going to the hospital. Calm down, Rachel.’
His confident voice calmed me down a little.
Without losing his composure, David grabbed the bag we had prepared and helped me to the car.
When we sat down, I screamed as a new wave of pain hit me — it was unbearable.
David held the steering wheel with one hand and my hand with the other.
‘We’re almost there. Hang in there.’
His hand was warm and strong, and it helped me breathe.
At the hospital, we were met by staff with a wheelchair.
David was by my side the whole time as I was wheeled into the delivery room.
‘It’s okay. You’ll see your baby soon,’ he repeated, his voice my anchor.
The contractions were getting more frequent.
The pain was unbearable, and I screamed again and again.
‘Just a little longer,’ the nurse said softly.
‘You can do it.’
But the pain was relentless.
David held my hand tightly.
‘You can do it, Rachel. You’ll see your baby soon. I believe in you.’
His voice was my only hope.