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

Sarah

pov.

The air was crisp, the kind of weather that made me want to wrap up in a soft scarf and take my time. My belly was starting to feel heavier these days, and every step reminded me that I was carrying a whole other person inside me. It was surreal when I thought about it too much, so instead, I focused on the rhythm of my sneakers against the sidewalk as I strolled through our neighborhood.

Mrs. Harper, our elderly neighbor, was trimming the roses in her garden. She looked up when she saw me, her face lighting up with a kind of joy that made you feel instantly at ease.

"Sarah, dear!" she called, waving her clippers. "Look at you, glowing like the morning sun!"

I laughed, touching my cheek instinctively. "I think it's the sweat, Mrs. Harper. Walking around with this bump is a workout."

She chuckled, setting the clippers down and coming closer. "Oh, I remember those days well. My Harold used to joke that I waddled like a duck. But you know, those were some of the best times of my life."

Her words caught me off guard, and I smiled, leaning slightly on the fence. "Really? Even with all the discomfort and exhaustion?"

"Oh, especially because of those," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Every ache, every moment of doubt-it all melts away when you hold that baby for the first time. You'll see."

I nodded, swallowing a lump in my throat. "I hope I'm ready for it. It feels like there's so much to figure out, and I'm just... I don't know."

Mrs. Harper reached out and patted my hand gently. "No one ever feels ready, sweetheart. But you'll learn as you go. And from what I've seen, you've got a good heart. That's the most important thing."

We chatted for a few more minutes before I continued on my walk, her words lingering in my mind. A good heart. It seemed so simple, but the way she said it made me believe it was enough.

When I got back home, I sat down at the kitchen table, a notebook in front of me. I'd been meaning to start journaling again, but life had a way of getting in the way. Now, though, it felt like the right time. Flipping to a blank page, I hesitated, the pen hovering over the paper. What do you say to someone you haven't even met yet? Finally, I started writing: Dear Daughter,

I can't wait to meet you. Every day, I wonder what you'll be like. Will you have your dad's big, kind eyes? Or his goofy laugh? Will you like books like I do, or will you find your own thing? I hope you know how much you're already loved. Even though I feel scared sometimes, I promise to do my best for you.

The words flowed easier after that, each one pulling me deeper into the moment. I wrote about the little things-how I cried over a TV commercial last week, how your dad talks to you through my belly when he thinks I'm asleep, how I can't stop eating peanut butter straight from the jar.

I didn't realize how much time had passed until Richard came through the door. His hair was tousled, and there was a faint smudge of paint on his sleeve from working on the nursery.

"Hey," he said, his face lighting up when he saw me. "What are you up to?"

I closed the notebook quickly, feeling a bit shy. "Just... writing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Writing? Like a diary?"

"Sort of," I admitted. "It's for the baby. Something for her to read one day, maybe when she's older."

kiss the top of my head. "That's a beautiful idea. You're going to make

but my cheeks warmed. "It's just

down across from me. "I think

Richard in the

felt a pang of embarrassment-this was supposed to be private, something for the baby-but when I saw

smiling. "Sorry. I couldn't

down beside him, taking the notebook from his hands. "You really

his voice soft. "Yeah. It's like... it's like you're

the book to one of the entries

his arm along the back of the couch. "I'd love

my throat, feeling

Dear Daughter,

your heartbeat again. It was so strong, like you were saying, 'I'm here! I'm ready!' It made me think about how fast things are changing and how much there is to learn. But no

I finished, I looked up to

said, his voice thick. "Now I'm

throat felt tight. "It's

he said, shaking his head. "It's not silly. It's

and I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For a while,

about Mrs. Harper's words again. A good heart. Maybe she was right. Maybe that was the most important

rested my hand on my belly, feeling the faint flutter of movement beneath my skin. "We're going to be okay,"

in

***

purpose. My hand instinctively went to my belly, and

that reminded me I wasn't

kitchen. I smiled, picturing him fumbling around for a coffee mug or trying to figure out

was, wearing an old T-shirt and pajama pants, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked up when he heard

up a plate of what I assumed were scrambled

against the counter. "What's this? Breakfast in

himself. "Sort of. I thought you deserved a little

but I think it's safer if I eat at the table. Remember the

dramatically. "Hey, that was one time. And for the record, I think setting a pancake on fire is harder than it

I realized the eggs were actually good. "Okay, I'll give

said, feigning offense. "I'm basically a chef now. You're lucky

smiling. Moments like this, when it was just the

to the journal. I took it to the