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Andrew held my hand at every appointment. He rubbed my back when I cried. He told me we had time, that we were okay, that he loved me no matter what.
Then, one ordinary morning, everything changed. I almost didn’t take the test. I was tired of disappointment.
But something made me do it anyway. When I saw the faintest second line appear, my knees buckled. I sat on the bathroom floor and cried so hard I could barely breathe.
At the doctor’s office the following week, when the physician smiled and said, “You’re pregnant,” I completely lost it. Andrew pulled me into his arms, his voice shaking as he whispered, “We did it. We really did it.”
For months, that moment lived inside my chest like a warm flame.
We painted the nursery a soft sage green. I folded tiny clothes over and over, imagining bedtime routines and first words. We debated names, laughed over baby books, and talked about who she might look like.
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