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."

top of my head.

warmed. "It's

said, sitting down across from me. "I think she's going to treasure

Richard in the living room, the

felt a pang of embarrassment-this was supposed to be private, something for the baby-but when I saw the look on his face, I couldn't be mad. "Caught you," I

up, sheepish but smiling. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself. This is... it's

notebook from his

soft. "Yeah. It's like... it's like you're putting

and I opened the book to one of the entries I'd written earlier. "Want

his arm along the back of the

feeling oddly nervous,

Dear Daughter,

and how much there is to learn. But no matter what,

up to

he said, his voice

laughed, though my own throat felt tight.

shaking his head. "It's not silly. It's

against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For a while, we just

as I lay in bed, I thought about Mrs. Harper's words again. A good heart. Maybe she was right. Maybe that was the most important

movement beneath my skin. "We're going to be

first time in a while, I

***

up with a sense of purpose. My hand instinctively went to my belly, and I felt the now-familiar curve under my

baby had been moving more frequently lately, tiny little flutters that reminded me I wasn't alone. It was comforting in a way I never

from the kitchen. I smiled, picturing him fumbling around for a coffee mug or trying to figure out how to make breakfast without setting off the smoke

got out 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 he

up a plate of what I

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

proud of himself. "Sort of.

plate from him. "Thanks, but I think it's safer if I eat at the

And for the record, I think setting a pancake on fire

together, and as I took a bite, I realized the eggs were actually good. "Okay,

"I'm basically a chef now. You're lucky to have

smiling. Moments like this, when it was just the

I decided to add another entry to the journal. I took it to the living room,