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."

to kiss the top of my head. "That's a beautiful

warmed. "It's

from me. "I think she's going to treasure

Richard in the living room, the notebook open

baby-but when I saw the look on his face, I couldn't be mad. "Caught you,"

"Sorry. I couldn't help myself. This

sat down beside him, taking the notebook

like

the book to one of the entries I'd written earlier. "Want me to read

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

throat, feeling

Dear Daughter,

how fast things are changing and how much there is to learn. But no matter what, we're in this together. Your dad is going to be the best. He already talks to you all the time, even if he doesn't think I notice. He loves you so much, and so do

up

he said, his voice thick.

felt tight. "It's just silly little

said, shaking his head. "It's

a hug, and I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For a while, we just sat there, wrapped up in each other and

Harper's words again. A good

movement beneath

in a while, I believed

***

I woke up with a sense of purpose. My hand instinctively went to my belly,

little flutters that reminded me I wasn't alone. It was comforting in a way I

him fumbling around for a coffee mug or

of bed, stretched, and shuffled into the kitchen. There he was, wearing an old T-shirt and pajama pants, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked up when

holding up a plate of what I

against the

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

"Thanks, but I think it's safer if I eat at the table.

the record, I think

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

offense. "I'm basically a chef now. You're

eyes but couldn't stop smiling. Moments like this, when it was just the two of us

add another entry to the journal. I took it to the living room, curling up on the couch with a