The last month of my pregnancy was exhausting. My back constantly ached, my ankles were swollen, and I couldn't take two steps without feeling like I needed to sit down. On top of that, my cravings had gotten even weirder. Tonight, it was pickles dipped in peanut butter and sprinkled with chocolate chips. Disgusting, I know, but I couldn't help myself.
I stood in the kitchen, wobbling slightly as I tried to balance my plate on the counter. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain against the window. My thoughts were a blur of emotions—anticipation, anxiety, and that gnawing feeling of loneliness that never quite went away.
As I reached for a pickle, a sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen, making me gasp. I froze, clutching the counter for support.
That was new.
Then I felt it—a sudden, warm gush of liquid running down my legs. My heart stopped.
Oh my God. My water just broke.
Panic set in immediately. My hands shook as I grabbed my phone, dialing for an ambulance.
"Hi, I—I think my water just broke. I'm 39 weeks pregnant." My voice trembled, but the operator stayed calm, asking me for my address and reassuring me that help was on the way.
After hanging up, I called Sarah.
"Isabella? What's wrong?" she answered, her voice groggy from sleep.
"My water broke," I blurted out. "I'm going into labor."
"Oh my God! I'm on my way," she said, instantly awake.
The minutes felt like hours as I waited for the ambulance. The pain was getting worse, sharp contractions rippling through my body. I tried to breathe through them, but panic and excitement kept making my breaths shallow and uneven.
When the paramedics arrived, they quickly got me onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The ride to the hospital was a blur of bright lights and reassuring words I barely heard over the sound of my own pounding heart.
By the time Sarah arrived at the hospital, I was already in a delivery room, gripping the rails of the bed as another contraction hit. She rushed to my side, her face filled with worry and determination.
"You've got this," she said, taking my hand.
Hours later, after what felt like an eternity of pain and exhaustion, I heard the first cry of my baby. The sound was like a balm to my soul, melting away every ounce of agony and fear.
"It's a girl," the doctor said, smiling as he handed her to me.
When they placed her in my arms, my breath caught in my throat. She was tiny, her skin flushed and wrinkled, her little hands curling into fists. And then I saw her eyes.
They were Alexander's eyes.
My chest ached as I stared down at her, my emotions a tidal wave I couldn't control. I felt love, fierce and overwhelming, but also pain—a sharp, searing reminder of the man who had given her those eyes.
She's mine, I told myself, brushing a gentle finger across her cheek. No matter who her father is, she's mine.
The nurses came to check on me, asking the usual questions. When they asked about the father, I hesitated for a moment before saying, "He's not available."
They didn't press further, and I was grateful for that.
Sarah stayed by my side, fussing over me and the baby like a mother hen. "She's beautiful, Isabella," she said softly, her eyes shimmering with tears.
I nodded, too choked up to speak.
Over the next few days, the hospital became a temporary home. I spent hours just staring at my daughter, memorizing every detail of her tiny face. Her little fingers would curl around mine, and I'd feel a swell of protectiveness so strong it made my heart ache.
When we finally went home, I walked into the nursery I'd spent months preparing. Thanks to the money I'd gotten from Angelina, I was able to create a beautiful space for my daughter—a soft, pastel room with a crib, toys, and a rocking chair by the window.
I laid her down in her crib, watching as she yawned and stretched before settling into sleep.
Sitting in the rocking chair, I felt a strange mix of pride and sadness. This little girl was my world now, my reason for everything. But a part of me couldn't stop thinking about how Alexander had tainted what should have been a joyful moment.
I wiped away a tear, determined not to let anyone, especially Alexander ruin it for me.
This was my new beginning. And I wasn't going to let anyone take it away.