Motherhood had always felt like a distant horizon to me—close enough to long for, but far enough that I learned not to reach too quickly. I carried that hope quietly, the way some people hold onto a wish they’re afraid to jinx. So when it finally happened, when I felt life flutter inside me, the joy came mixed with fear, tenderness, and gratitude.
Pregnancy wasn’t gentle with me. Every step felt heavier, every breath slower. Raymond—steady, soft-spoken Ray—tried to anchor us both. He researched everything. He whispered to the baby when he thought I was sleeping. He said we’d figure it all out together.
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