I always dreamed of becoming a mother, and finally, my dream was coming true. But the joy of expecting a child was overshadowed by my husband’s unexpected business trip and the arrival of a stranger who turned out to be connected to my past.
My husband David and I had been preparing and planning for a child for a long time, but for many years, nothing worked out. We had tried everything we could think of, and the constant disappointment was heartbreaking.
But eight months ago, everything changed. I finally saw those coveted two lines on the pregnancy test. This pregnancy was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
The joy I felt was indescribable. I knew I would never abandon this child, as someone once did to me. Even though I was adopted when I was a year old and my adoptive parents were wonderful, learning that I was adopted broke me at the time.
It felt like a part of my identity was missing. But now, I was eagerly awaiting our baby, ready to give them all the love I had received and more.
David and I decided to have a partner birth, so I knew it would be a special moment for both of us.
One evening, when David returned from work, he looked very tired and worried. I tried to find out what had happened, but he only responded that everything was fine.
We had dinner in silence, and I felt that he wasn’t telling me something. The tension in the air was thick, and I could see he was struggling with something.
“David, please talk to me. It’s hard for me to see you like this,” I said, my voice soft but insistent.
David sighed heavily and rubbed his nose, looking down at the floor. “Alright,” he began slowly. “I’ve been sent on a business trip in ten days. I’ll be paid very well for it, and I thought it was a good opportunity since the baby is coming soon.”
“That’s great. Why do you look so sad then?” I asked, feeling a knot form in my stomach.
“Because they don’t know how long they’ll need me there. They said to expect anywhere from two weeks to a month,” David said, his voice strained.
“But the birth could happen during that time,” I said, placing a hand on my stomach, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over me.
“I know. That’s why I’m in this state,” David replied, his eyes filled with worry.
“Then refuse,” I suggested, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I can’t. It will affect my future work, and we could use the extra money,” he explained, frustration evident in his tone.
“But you might not be there for the birth,” I said, my voice breaking slightly.
David got up and came over to me, hugging me tightly. “That’s why I found a doula for you. I want you to have support while I’m away,” he said, his voice gentle.
“I want to give birth with my husband, not some stranger,” I said, dissatisfied.
“I know. But Martha is very good, and many people recommended her to me,” he tried to reassure me.
“I don’t like this idea,” I said, shaking my head.
“I’ll try to return as soon as possible, but I want us to have some backup. Let me arrange a meeting with her while I’m still here. If you don’t like her, we’ll look for other options,” he offered, trying to find a compromise.
“I don’t want other options. I want you to be with me,” I insisted, feeling tears well up in my eyes.
“I want to be with you and the baby too,” David said, placing his hand on my belly. “That’s why I feel awful about having to leave. But we’ll get through this, and I hope to be back before you start giving birth, okay?”
“Okay,” I said softly.
That evening, we just lay together, hugging, as if not wanting to let each other go for even a moment. The fear of him not being there for the birth was heavy in my heart, but I knew we had to face this together, even if it meant being apart for a little while.
Two days after that conversation with David, I was on my way to meet the doula, Martha. To be honest, I wasn’t very positive about this meeting because I didn’t fully understand how a stranger could support me in such an important moment.
I parked near the café where Martha and I had agreed to meet and went inside. The café was warm and inviting, with the rich smell of coffee filling the air. I looked around, not knowing which of the people there was Martha.
Suddenly, a woman sitting alone at a table waved at me, and I realized it was her. She looked older than I expected, around 50, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. I approached and sat at the table.
“Hi! I’m Martha, and you must be Sheila,” she said, her smile warm and inviting.
“Yes, but how did you know it was me?” I asked, a bit surprised.
“You looked confused… and pregnant,” she added with a gentle laugh.
“Right, I just feel like this belly has always been with me,” I said, laughing too.
“I understand, but believe me, you’ll feel such relief when it’s gone,” Martha said, nodding.
“I can only imagine,” I replied, trying to picture that moment.
Martha and I talked for two hours. She explained what her work would involve and how she could help me. She spoke about different techniques for pain management, relaxation, and support during labor.
I described how I envisioned the process, emphasizing the importance of a calm and supportive environment. It turned out our views were very similar, and we immediately found common ground.
Martha’s experience and empathy reassured me, and I was grateful to David for coming up with this idea.
As the conversation was ending, Martha asked, “Do you have any more questions for me?”
“Yes, I don’t want to be tactless, but do you have children?” I asked, feeling a bit awkward.
“No, I decided to dedicate my life to medical school and then to working in this field, but now I’m here,” Martha said, smiling. “But I have given birth,” she added softly.
“Oh…” I said, sensing it might have been something very personal and possibly traumatic for her.
We stood up from the table, and Martha came over to hug me goodbye. As she hugged me, I noticed her looking at the large birthmark on my shoulder.
“In my teenage years, I thought about removing it because I didn’t like it, but now I consider it my unique feature,” I said, trying to make light of it. Martha looked at me puzzled. “I’m talking about the birthmark,” I added for clarity.
“Oh, yes. It’s very nice,” Martha said, rushing off. I didn’t understand her behavior, but decided to ignore it. Maybe she remembered she was late for something.
As I left the café, I felt a mix of relief and curiosity, wondering more about this woman who would be by my side during such an important moment.
Time passed, and my due date was approaching. It was hard without David during this period, but Martha was very supportive. She visited almost every day and even helped with household chores.
Her presence was comforting, and she always knew how to calm my nerves. I felt like Martha understood me like no one else, as if we were related, and I couldn’t shake that feeling.
David was supposed to fly back home that day, and I just hoped he would make it before our baby started to arrive. Martha and I were checking my hospital bag, probably for the tenth time due to my anxiety.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure everything you need is there. If anything is missing, I’ll definitely bring it,” Martha said, her voice calm and reassuring.
“I know, I just want everything to go perfectly,” I replied, trying to hide my anxiety.
“Oh, dear. This is childbirth; it can’t be perfect. But your baby will be, and that’s what matters,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you, Martha,” I said, feeling a bit better. I went to the kitchen to pour myself some cold juice. As I approached the fridge, I felt something was wrong. I realized my water bag had broken. I immediately went to Martha.
“My water broke,” I said, panicking, my voice trembling.
“Quick, sit down,” Martha said, helping me to the couch. Within seconds, I felt the first contraction and screamed.
“Breathe, remember how I taught you to breathe,” Martha said. But the pain was too intense for me to think clearly. “Breathe, Amber, breathe,” she said, and it snapped me out of my panic.
“What did you call me?” I asked, confused.
“I meant Sheila, sorry, I made a mistake,” Martha said quickly. “But you need to focus on your breathing now.”
“When I was born, they named me Amber. But my mother abandoned me, and my adoptive parents renamed me when I was a year old, right after they adopted me. Don’t tell me this is a coincidence,” I pressed her, my heart racing.
“Sheila, it truly is just a coincidence,” Martha said, her face serious.
“What happened to the baby? You said you gave birth but have no children. What happened to that baby?” I asked, my voice rising.
“I gave her up for adoption,” Martha answered quietly.
“It was me, wasn’t it? I felt something was off. I noticed we were too similar,” I said, my voice shaking.
“Sheila, you need to focus on your baby now,” Martha said, trying to keep me calm.
“It was me?!” I shouted, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.
“Yes,” Martha admitted.
“And how long have you known?” I demanded.
“Since our first meeting when I saw your birthmark,” Martha said, her eyes filled with regret.
“I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me all this time. I trusted you!” I cried out.
“My dear, my child. If you only knew how I wanted to hug you and never let go since I recognized you. I tried to hint at it, but I was afraid. Afraid of your reaction, of what you would think of me,” Martha said, her voice breaking.
“You abandoned me!” I yelled.
“I was young and stupid. My parents wouldn’t let me keep you, and I couldn’t give you anything,” Martha said, tears streaming down her face. “And when you were born, I held you for a while, and then you were taken away.”
“So now what? Do you want me to forgive you and hug you?” I asked sarcastically.
“I just want to be here for you and your baby. I can’t change the past, but I can try to make up for it,” Martha said, her voice pleading.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said, feeling overwhelmed by emotions.
“Please, Sheila, let’s focus on your baby now. We can talk about this later,” Martha said, her voice steady.
I nodded, feeling another contraction coming on. Martha helped me with the breathing techniques, and I tried to push everything else out of my mind. I needed to focus on bringing my baby into the world.
Hours passed in a blur of pain and effort. Martha was by my side the whole time, guiding and supporting me. I couldn’t deny her presence was comforting, even though I was still reeling from the revelation.
Finally, the moment came, and I heard my baby’s first cry. Tears streamed down my face as the doctor placed the baby on my chest. I looked at Martha, who was watching with tears in her eyes.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, smiling.
“She’s perfect,” I whispered, holding my daughter close.
David arrived just in time to see his daughter, and we shared a moment of pure joy. I couldn’t wait to tell him everything, but for now, we were focused on our baby.
In the weeks that followed, I slowly came to terms with everything. Martha visited often, helping with the baby and offering her support. I still had many questions and unresolved feelings, but I knew she was trying to make things right.
One evening, as Martha held my daughter, I looked at her and said, “I don’t know if I can ever fully forgive you, but I appreciate what you’re doing for us now.”
“Thank you, Sheila. That means a lot,” Martha said, her eyes filled with gratitude.
And so, our journey continued. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but we were finding our way together. The past was still a part of us, but the future was full of possibilities, and I was determined to make the most of it for my daughter.
