Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart by Hayley

Sarah

pov.

I woke up that morning with an idea buzzing in my mind like a persistent fly. It wasn't about reorganizing the nursery or tackling the endless list of baby-related tasks.

No, this was different. I wanted to create something lasting, something that could capture the whirlwind of emotions, changes, and funny little moments we'd experienced during this pregnancy.

A photo album. It seemed simple enough, but as I sat at the dining table with my laptop, scrolling through photos, I realized this was about more than just pictures.

It was about preserving memories, the kind we might laugh at or cry over years from now. The first snapshot I found was of me holding a pickle jar in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other, grinning like a lunatic.

"I forgot about that night," I murmured to myself, smiling. Richard had taken the picture after catching me sneaking into the kitchen at midnight. I remembered how he'd teased me for days, calling me his "sweet-and-sour queen." "Perfect," I said, adding it to the album template.

The next few photos I found were more routine-belly shots we'd taken every month, selfies from doctor's visits, and a few pictures of me surrounded by baby clothes. But as I scrolled further, I realized something was missing: Richard. Later that morning, I decided to change that. Richard was outside tinkering with something in the garage, so I grabbed my phone and quietly followed him.

Peeking through the doorway, I saw him hunched over a small bookshelf he'd decided to build for the nursery.

He was muttering to himself, a pencil tucked behind his ear and a tape measure in his hand. I couldn't resist. I snapped a quick photo.

"Caught in the act," I teased, stepping inside.

Richard looked up, startled. "What are you doing?"

I said, holding up my phone. "Future generations need

smiled. "If you're going to take pictures, at least wait

why I'm taking it now," I said, clicking

and went back to measuring, but I could see the

few days, I became a stealthy photographer, capturing candid moments of Richard

baby toys, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out how a rattle could be so

was of him holding up a tiny onesie, looking both amused and slightly terrified at how small

a baby book open on his chest. I almost didn't take it because it felt too sweet to disturb, but I knew it belonged in the

chest. There were silly moments, like my midnight craving picture, and heartwarming ones, like Richard working on the nursery. I couldn't wait to show him. That evening, after dinner, I brought the laptop to the couch and

this?" he asked, glancing at the

on," I said, opening the

first photo popped up-the pickle-and-ice-cream shot. Richard laughed. "Oh, I remember this! You were

still stand by it," I said, nudging him

through the album, his laughter turned into soft chuckles, then quiet smiles. When we reached the photos of him,

off the hook, did you? This is our journey, and you're just as much a

unreadable. Then he turned to me, his voice softer.

I need you. I wanted to make sure you knew how much it matters." Richard didn't

in progress at the time. Richard pointed at the half-painted walls in the picture. "Remember when I

forget? You were so determined to fix it that you stayed up

to be disappointed," he

replied. "Not because of the color, but because you cared so much. That's what made