I stood at the doorstep, eager to share the ultrasound images with my boyfriend, Miles. But instead of joy, his reaction was cold and unforgiving.
“Annabelle, I never wanted to be a father,” he said, his words cutting deep.
His friend Dave intervened, speaking up from the doorway. “Miles, that’s not right. You can’t just dismiss her like that.”
Miles’ anger escalated, and he slammed the door in Dave’s face. I crumbled, clutching my belly protectively.
“I want this child, Miles. It’s part of us,” I pleaded.
But Miles was resolute. “It’s your problem, Annabelle. Choose: the baby or me.”
Tears streaming down my face, I chose my unborn child. Miles’ rejection stung, but I knew I had made the right decision.
As I sat on a snow-covered step, feeling utterly alone, Dave reappeared. His concern etched on his face, he offered a safe haven.
“Come with me, Annabelle. We’ll figure things out,” he said.
I hesitated, but Dave’s kindness broke through my resolve. His cozy home, filled with warmth and mismatched furniture, became my refuge.
As days passed, Dave’s considerate nature soothed my battered heart. He provided for me, surprising me with maternity essentials and thoughtful gestures.
One crisp morning, he found me trudging through the snow, struggling with groceries. His expression was a mix of worry and astonishment.
“Why are you working like this, Annabelle?” he asked.
I explained my need to prepare for the baby, but Dave’s response was unexpected. He proposed a trade-off: my cooking for his support.
Our pact became a beautiful routine. I found solace in Dave’s gentle presence, and our connection deepened.
But fear crept in as I realized my feelings for Dave went beyond gratitude. Could someone like him truly love a soon-to-be single mother with a complicated past?
One evening, as we shared a meal, I accidentally called him “honey.” The tension was palpable, and Dave’s reaction left me uncertain.
Days passed, filled with awkward silences. Dave’s behavior changed, and I sensed he was pulling away.
Then, a voicemail notification on Dave’s phone revealed a shocking truth: he was planning to move to a new apartment. Heartbroken, I realized I couldn’t stay.
As I packed, Miles appeared, sneering at my pregnant form. His proposal was laughable – he wanted to use our child for publicity.
Revolted, I pushed him away. But my water broke, and panic set in.
Dave’s voice cut through the chaos, reassuring me. “Annabelle, we need to go to the hospital.”
At the hospital, Dave confessed his love, explaining the new apartment was for us, with a nursery for our baby.
Our baby boy Matthew’s arrival marked the beginning of our new journey, one filled with love. Years later, our family was complete with the birth of our daughter Hope.
Dave’s unwavering passion and protectiveness transformed my past pains into distant memories, replaced by a love that healed my heart.
