BECCA
Sometimes, I wonder why I even try.
A year and a half ago, I stared down at those two pink lines, my hands shaking, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. I was finally going to be a mother. Just like I’d always dreamed of.
But dreams are funny things, aren’t they?
Because the reality was nothing like the fairytale I’d imagined.
The father of my baby—the man I loved—wasn't the man I thought he was. He hadn’t just broken up with his girlfriend of ten years like he’d claimed. No, he was still with her. Still choosing her.
But he had an excuse, of course. She’s fragile, he told me. If I leave too soon, she might do something to herself. Just be patient, Becca. Just wait.
So I did.
I counted the days, the weeks, the months, waiting for the moment he’d finally be mine
