My husband told me, “I can’t keep lying to myself. Your sister is the one I really want.” I answered back, “Then have her.” One year later, I was the owner of the most successful gym in the city. What my ex-husband did when he saw me happier than ever with my new fiance still makes me die with laughter.
Joseph and I had been trying for a baby for 18 months. I planned to surprise him that I was pregnant on his birthday. Already had the positive test and a list of 100 baby names set up, but then Ashley called him. my younger sister, the fitness influencer with the perfect body and a bachelor’s degree, whose bikini pics Joseph doubletapped daily, while I still dressed up every night begging him for the same attention.
“I want to talk about something,” Joseph said, still scrolling through Netflix. Me and Ashley talked. “She’s more equipped for what I want from life. Seven years of working overtime to pay for his community college, ruining my body with IVF treatments, everything. He was tossing into the garbage because my own sister sweet talked in his ear.
Then have her,” I found myself saying through tears. He looked up from the TV. Wait, you’re just okay with it? Do you even love me? I do love you. But clearly, my love isn’t enough. So, just take your things and go. He left to meet Ashley at a photo shoot that same evening. Came back to get his things the next morning.
Her hair tie was on his wrist, her lipstick still on his neck. He smelled like her. We slept in separate beds. He lied right to me. What Joseph didn’t know was I’d already been suspicious. Ashley opened up to him more than her own friends. Always invited him to come work out. Hired him as a replacement photographer for one of her shoots.
My mom called me exactly 24 hours later. Did you hear? Joseph and Ashley are finally together. Aren’t you just delighted for them? Our seven years of marriage was worth nothing. A couple of flirty attempts from Ashley and all of a sudden everyone’s calling them the best thing that happened to this family. I’m sure you’ll meet someone new, sweetie.
Ashley’s just hard to compete with. I was so close to punching them, to telling them about the baby. Instead, I ended the call and focused on my pregnancy. I miscarried 3 weeks later. Doctor said it was stress and improper fusion. I was at rock bottom. That Monday, I drove past a gym on my way home from work.
The sign on the front door said, “Clean up crew hiring. No qualifications needed. With my life plans derailed, I said screw it and parked my car. The gym owner was a retired bodybuilder. You look like nothing a six-pack and a glute workout couldn’t solve,” she said. I chuckled for the first time in months. “I got the job, and up in that weight room, nothing else mattered. Just me and the barbell.
Not Joseph. Ashley, not my parents celebrating their engagement. I came home one day to Ashley helping Joseph clear out the last of his stuff. You’re sweaty.” Ashley commented, handing me a napkin. Stairs are hard for certain people. They both laughed at her joke. I didn’t say a word, just went to change as they loaded things into their car.
The gym became my outlet. What I saved, I spent on protein supplements and workout clothes that made me feel slay. The gym owner noticed I hit my goal weight and decided to pay for my qualification. Within 8 months, I had my personal training license. I started coaching women who paid me $60 an hour. One woman, Maryanne, the wife of a real estate agent, particularly liked me.
You’re an inspiration. We need more people like you. She told me about an old forale building on the side of town without a gym. She got her husband to cut me a deal. I put my life savings into it and slept on the unheated floor eating tinned food, but people in Maryanne’s circle were already offering thousands for equity in my future gym.
Joseph actually contacted me 2 months after that. Saw on your IG you’re a PT now being like Ashley won’t win me back, you know. I ignored him. I was busy driving with Maryanne to an investor meeting where the equipment of my gym would be funded. $150,000 for the best machines around. When my gym finally opened, I had 750 members within 8 weeks, turning 50,000 in profit in my first three months alone.
Maryanne was in disbelief when I told her, “You achieved more than any lousy influencer ever will. Your sister still getting half naked for money. Finally, the invitations to Ashley and Joseph’s one-year wedding anniversary came around. My parents begged me to come. Joseph had something to say. I went with Dale, Mary Anne’s nephew, tall, educated Olympic weightlifter, genuinely inspired by my gym story.
We’d been engaged for 2 months. Joseph’s reaction when he saw us was to die for. Dale’s broad shoulders, my pregnant belly bump, Dale’s quiet assertiveness that screamed competence. Everything Joseph dreamed of. Ashley was pregnant, too. But she looked defeated. She pulled me aside. Girl, please help. Joseph knows.
By the time she started explaining, Joseph stood up and clinkedked his glass. Attention everyone. Ashley’s face went white. The bump you see on Ashley’s belly, Joseph continued, is not because of me. Everyone went white. I’m infertile, which means that Ashley is pregnant with someone else. Then he turned to me. I love you and leaving was my biggest mistake.
I’m never going to leave you again. He started walking towards me. I took three steps backward and my hand went straight to my belly. That protective thing pregnant women do without thinking about it. Dale moved forward just a bit, not aggressive, but definitely there. And Joseph stopped dead in his tracks when he saw my bump properly for the first time.
His whole face changed. Went from desperate to confused to something else I couldn’t read. Dale’s hand found mine and gave it this small squeeze, reminding me of what we talked about in the car, how we wouldn’t let my heart rate spike no matter what happened tonight. I started doing those breathing exercises from prenatal yoga class, counting four in and six out.
And right then, I felt the baby move, this little flutter that helped me stay calm. Joseph reached his hand out toward me like he wanted to touch my belly, or maybe just touch me, and started saying something about needing to talk alone, about us, about our future. The whole room was watching this disaster happen, and I could see at least three people holding up their phones, recording everything.
I kept my voice steady and told him any communication would need to be through text or email, only in public spaces with other people around. His face crumpled like I’d slapped him, but I wasn’t about to risk my baby’s health for his breakdown. Dale and I turned toward the exit and started walking, keeping our pace normal, even though every muscle in my body wanted to run.
Ashley was standing near the door with mascara running down her face, trying to catch my eye, but I looked straight ahead and focused on getting to the car. My breathing stayed steady even with all the chaos behind us. People whispering and gasping and probably posting everything online already. We got to Dale’s truck and he helped me up into the passenger seat, making sure my seat belt was positioned right under my bump before walking around to the driver’s side.
The drive home was quiet except for the radio playing some old rock station Dale liked. Neither of us talking about what just happened. Once we got home, I grabbed my laptop and started typing everything out while it was still fresh, making a timeline of who said what and when, documenting everything in case we needed it later. Dale made chamomile tea without me asking.
Bringing it over in my favorite mug, the one with the gym’s logo on it. He kept things light, talking about tomorrow’s schedule at the gym, which trainers were covering which classes, normal stuff that had nothing to do with the disaster we just witnessed. I went to bed early, but couldn’t sleep much. Kept thinking about everything that happened and what might come next.
First thing in the morning, I called my OB’s office and explained what happened at the party, how stressful it had been. The receptionist got me in with the doctor that same afternoon, and she checked everything. said the baby looked fine, but gave me a list of warning signs to watch for. She also suggested I might want to limit stressful situations for the next few weeks, which almost made me laugh considering my whole family was a stressful situation.
I drove to the gym after the appointment and could tell immediately that everyone already knew what happened. Members were huddled in little groups near the water fountain, and the front desk staff looked up at me with these worried faces. I called a quick staff meeting in the break room and told everyone we needed to handle any questions professionally, that our members came here to work out, not to gossip.
My team nodded and I could see they had my back, which made me feel better than I had in days. I was going over membership numbers in my office when my phone rang and mom’s name popped up on the screen. She started writing about how I should hear Joseph out for the family’s sake, how this was all a misunderstanding that could be fixed if I just tried.
I told her calmly that I had to go and hung up, not letting her guilt trip work on me anymore. That evening, after the gym closed, I sat at my desk and typed out a text to Joseph, keeping it simple and clear. I told him I would only discuss necessary legal matters from our divorce, nothing personal, and that all communication needed to be in writing.
I hit send and immediately went to his profile to block him on all social media platforms. My phone buzzed with what was probably his response, but I didn’t look, just turned it face down and went to find Dale, who was cleaning up the weight room. He looked up when I walked in and didn’t say anything.
Just opened his arm so I could lean against him for a minute. Tomorrow would bring more drama, more calls, more people trying to convince me to do something I didn’t want to do. But tonight, I had my gym, my business that I’d built from nothing, and Dale, who understood that sometimes the best support was just being there without trying to fix everything.
The next morning, Dale called his buddy, who worked at a financial planning firm, and got us an appointment for that afternoon. We sat in the office going through every single account I had, making sure Joseph’s name wasn’t on anything from our marriage days. The adviser pulled up old bank records and found two joint accounts I’d forgotten about from years ago, one with $12 in it and another with 43.
We closed them both right there and opened new ones with just my name, then went through my business accounts line by line. Dale took notes while the adviser listed every possible way Joseph could try to claim part of my gym, writing down dates and amounts and creating a paper trail showing everything was funded after our separation.
My phone buzzed while we were signing papers and Ashley’s name popped up on Instagram with a message request. She wanted to talk woman towoman about everything that happened at the party. I took a screenshot of the message for my records but didn’t open it, just tucked my phone away and focused on the financial documents. That afternoon, I went back to the gym and pulled up our class schedule on my computer.
I added three extra prenatal yoga slots for myself each week and sent a message to my staff letting them know I might need coverage if the pregnancy made me tired. Within minutes, my team was responding with offers to cover any class I needed, reminding me they had my back no matter what. The next day, while I was checking our social media accounts, I noticed we were getting tagged in tons of posts.
Ashley had posted some vague story about betrayal and heartbreak with a black and white photo of her looking sad. Her followers were going crazy trying to figure out what happened and somehow my gym kept getting mentioned in the comments. Our follower count jumped by 200 in just a few hours, which was weird, but I wasn’t complaining about free advertising.
I called Myrtle, who came to the gym that afternoon with her laptop. She sat in my office typing up a statement that said basically nothing, but sounded professional, something about focusing on health and wellness during this time and respecting everyone’s privacy. She posted it on all our accounts, and the speculation died down pretty quick after that.
Joseph texted me that night saying he needed to meet urgently to fix our family. I copied the boundary message I’d sent him before about only discussing legal matters in writing and sent it again without adding anything else. A few days passed and I kept thinking about Ashley’s message. I finally opened it and typed back that I’d only meet if she was getting a paternity test and we had a professional mediator there.
She wrote back yes immediately, which caught me off guard. I spent the next morning researching family therapists who did mediation work and found one with good reviews who could see us the following week. I sent both Ashley and Joseph separate emails with the appointment details and the rules. Everything had to stay factual.
No blame games. Everyone gets equal time to talk. At our weekly staff meeting, I brought up the situation without going into details. We worked together to write scripts for anyone who asked questions about the drama. Basically telling them we were here to focus on fitness, not gossip. My team also helped me set up keyword filters on our social media to hide any nasty comments that might come through.
We were wrapping up the meeting when I got home and found a thick envelope in my mailbox. The return address was from some law firm I’d never heard of. My hands shook a little as I opened it and read through the legal language. Joseph’s lawyer was suggesting he might have a claim to my gym as marital property since we were still technically married when I started working at the first gym.
My stomach dropped, but I forced myself to take a deep breath and switch into problemsolving mode instead of panicking. I grabbed my phone and started googling forensic accountants in the area, scrolling through reviews until I found one with experience in divorce asset disputes. The guy’s office was downtown, and when I called, his secretary said he could squeeze me in that afternoon if I brought all my business records.
I spent the next two hours pulling together bank statements, incorporation papers, the lease agreement, everything that showed when I started at the gym and when I opened my own place. The accountant’s name was Mr. Peterson, and he looked exactly like you’d expect. Glasses and a calculator on his desk. He went through every single document, making copies and highlighting dates, asking me questions about inheritance money from my grandma that I’d used for the down payment.
When he finished, he leaned back and told me Joseph’s claim was basically garbage since everything happened after we separated. But having the paperwork organized would shut down any attempt fast. That night, Dale and I were making dinner when he brought up the mediation sessions that were probably coming. He stirred the pasta while telling me he’d been thinking about it and didn’t want to be in the actual meeting since it might make things more tense with Joseph.
He’d wait outside in the lobby or the car, ready if I needed him, but he thought keeping some distance would help things stay professional. I appreciated him thinking it through like that instead of trying to play the protective boyfriend card. We were cleaning up when my phone buzzed with a text from my mom. Five words that made my stomach turn.
Don’t destroy our family. I stared at it for a full minute, feeling that old guilt trying to creep in, but then I just deleted it and blocked her number for now. 2 days later, I woke up to find blood on my underwear. Not a lot, but enough to send me into full panic mode. Dale drove me to the emergency room while I tried not to completely lose it.
Convinced something was wrong with the baby. The triage nurse got me in pretty quick when I explained I was pregnant and bleeding. They did an ultrasound and the doctor said everything looked fine, just some spotting from stress, totally normal, but I needed to rest more. She wrote me a prescription for anxiety meds that were safe during pregnancy and suggested I find a therapist who specialized in prenatal stress.
The next morning, I got an email from the mediator I’d contacted with available times for our first session. She laid out all the ground rules in writing. Everyone sticks to facts, not feelings. No yelling or blame spirals. Each person gets equal time to talk without interruption. Just having structure and rules made my chest feel less tight.
I picked a slot for the following week and forwarded it to both Joseph and Ashley. Ashley messaged me on Instagram later that day saying she’d already agreed to do the paternity test, but wanted to know if I’d go with her to the appointment for support. I typed back that the mediator would handle coordinating all that stuff and we should keep our distance until then.
She sent back a thumbs up emoji and that was it. The mediation appointment came faster than I expected. Dale drove me but stayed in the car like we’d discussed. The mediator’s office was one of those neutral beige spaces designed not to trigger anyone. Joseph was already there when I walked in, wearing a suit like this was a job interview.
He started talking the second we all sat down, reading from his phone about how sorry he was for everything, how he’d been in therapy working on himself. But then, without even taking a breath, he switched to talking about dividing up property and assets like we were business partners dissolving a company. I cut him off and stated clearly that there would be no reconciliation, period, and any discussion about assets needed to go through our lawyers only.
The mediator wrote everything down, and at the end, she summarized what we’d agreed on. No contact between sessions. Ashley’s paternity test was scheduled for next week and all financial discussions would happen through legal counsel only. She made us both sign a paper acknowledging these agreements. Having it all documented and official made me feel protected for the first time in weeks.
My gym was hosting a charity fundraiser that weekend for the local women’s shelter, and I decided to show up for just an hour to thank everyone. The second I walked in, my regular members formed this protective circle around me, steering conversations away from anything personal and keeping the nosy people at bay. One woman actually stepped between me and someone who started to ask about the situation and changed the subject to the new equipment we’d ordered.
Their loyalty reminded me that I’d built something real here, something that had nothing to do with Joseph or Ashley or any of that drama. Monday morning, I was reviewing the fundraiser numbers when my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. The woman on the other end said she was a reporter from the local news and wanted to comment on my family situation after someone had leaked video from the anniversary party.
I gave her exactly two boring sentences about how everyone deserves privacy during difficult times and mental health should be the priority, then hung up before she could ask anything else. Two days later, I was sitting in the forensic accountant’s office looking at spreadsheets that made my head spin. She walked me through every possible outcome from Joseph getting nothing to him somehow claiming part of my gym.
The worst case scenario had me losing 30% of the business value if his lawyer could prove marital assets were used. I opened a separate emergency account that afternoon and moved 50,000 into it just in case things went sideways. Dale found me that evening staring at the ceiling in bed and climbed in next to me without saying anything at first.
Then he cleared his throat and told me he’d been thinking about us and the wedding we’d been planning. He was worried people would always compare him to Joseph, that he’d never be seen as his own person in my life. We talked for 2 hours about slowing everything down until the legal mess was over. The next morning, I drove myself to my first prenatal class at the hospital.
The instructor was this tiny woman who delivered five kids herself, and she spent the whole hour teaching us breathing techniques. She kept saying we needed to advocate for ourselves during delivery and not just go along with whatever the doctor suggested. I practiced the breathing exercises while she talked about birth plans and pain management options.
Every woman there looked just as nervous as me. But by the end, we were all breathing together like some weird choir. 3 days passed before the next mediation session where Ashley finally broke down crying. She admitted through tears that the father was Edwin Wyatt, this photographer she’d worked with on multiple shoots over the past year.
The mediator wrote down his full name and contact information while Ashley stared at her hands looking completely defeated. She said Edwin knew about the baby but hadn’t decided what he wanted to do yet. The mediator promised to reach out to him within the week to discuss paternity testing and potential co-parenting arrangements. I watched Ashley shrink into her chair as the reality of her situation hit her all over again.
Later that week, the mediator called to update me that Edwin had agreed to cooperate with everything. He’d already scheduled his paternity test and was willing to discuss custody arrangements once the results came back. The mediator said he seemed relieved to have someone neutral handling the situation instead of dealing directly with Ashley.
A thick envelope arrived from Joseph’s therapist through the mediator’s office the following Monday. The summary inside explained that Joseph was working through his shame about being infertile and his need to control situations when he felt inadequate. Reading about his issues made me feel bad for him for exactly 3 seconds before I remembered everything he’d put me through.
I filed the papers with all the other documentation and went back to focusing on my gym. That Friday, we all met at the mediator’s office to sign a financial freeze agreement. The document prevented anyone from moving assets or making major financial decisions during the evaluation period. Joseph’s hand shook as he signed his name, and Ashley wouldn’t even look at him across the table.
Having that legal protection in writing meant I could finally sleep through the night without worrying about Joseph draining accounts or hiding money. The following week, I organized a staff appreciation dinner at this Italian place near the gym. My 12 employees showed up ready to eat their weight in pasta, and we spent 3 hours talking about the business.
I brought up the idea of capping our membership at a thousand to maintain quality instead of just growing endlessly. Every single person agreed that keeping things manageable was better than becoming some huge impersonal chain gym. We made plans for equipment upgrades and new classes, but all within our current space and member limits.
Edwin met with the mediator 2 days after our dinner, and I heard about it through the grapevine. He’d requested confidentiality because of his photography contracts with major brands who wouldn’t want scandal attached to their campaigns. Everyone agreed to keep things quiet, and he signed papers agreeing to the paternity test and future discussions about the baby.
The mediator told me he seemed like a decent guy who was just caught up in a messy situation he hadn’t expected. Joseph’s lawyer sent over a settlement proposal the next week suggesting I pay Joseph 75,000 for his emotional investment in my success. My accountant laughed out loud when she read it and immediately drafted a response with documentation showing every penny for the gym came from my inheritance and post-seppparation income.
She attached bank statements, tax returns, and investment records that proved Joseph had zero claim to anything. The facts were completely on my side, and his lawyer knew it, but was obviously trying anyway. My phone buzzed with a text from Ashley 2 days later while I was reviewing membership contracts at the gym.
She thanked me for pushing for mediation instead of letting this turn into a public court fight that would destroy her influencer income. I screenshot the message and forwarded it to my lawyer without responding. That afternoon, I drove to my OB appointment where we went through every detail of my birth plan.
The doctor walked me through each step and made sure Dale’s contact info was in the system as my primary support person. She gave me a folder with copies of everything and told me to keep one at home and one in the car just in case. Dale met me after the appointment and we sat in his truck going through the papers together. He programmed the hospital’s direct line into his phone and made notes about which entrance to use for labor and delivery.
3 days later, we all showed up at the lab for Ashley’s paternity test. Joseph went first, then Ashley, then Edwin, who drove up in a rental car, looking uncomfortable, but cooperative. The tech took cheek swabs from everyone, and the mediator logged all the sample numbers and told us results would take 2 weeks.
I noticed the online gossip about our family drama had died down since nobody was posting anything dramatic anymore. My gym’s social media went back to normal engagement instead of people fishing for scandal details. The forensic accountant called me that Friday with the preliminary financial report. She walked me through every page showing how my inheritance from my grandmother funded the down payment and all the renovation costs came from my post-seppparation income.
The equipment was bought with business loans I qualified for based on my personal training income. Joseph’s name wasn’t on a single document and she said his lawyer would be stupid to keep pushing after seeing this evidence. The next mediation session was scheduled for Monday morning and I showed up with my stack of financial documents.
Joseph sat across from me with a typed statement his therapist had helped him write. He read it slowly, taking responsibility for his choices and the pain he caused without asking for reconciliation or forgiveness. I kept my face neutral and just nodded when he finished reading. The mediator made copies for everyone and we moved on to the next agenda item.
Ashley posted on her Instagram that night announcing a break from social media to focus on health and family. Her comment section exploded with speculation, but she didn’t respond to any of it. I felt the tight feeling in my chest loosen for the first time since the anniversary party. Dale noticed me sleeping better and mentioned it while we made breakfast together.
The paternity results came back exactly 2 weeks after the test. The mediator called each of us separately to share the results before our next group meeting. Edwin was confirmed as the father of Ashley’s baby with 99.9% certainty. I felt weird relief knowing that question was finally answered even though it didn’t directly affect me.
Ashley and Edwin started meeting with the mediator separately to work out a co-arenting agreement. I heard through the mediator that they were being surprisingly mature about custody schedules and financial support. Edwin had good insurance through his photography work and offered to add the baby to his plan.
They agreed to shared legal custody with Ashley having primary physical custody and Edwin getting weekends once the baby was old enough. The mediator said they were actually communicating better than most couples she worked with. Joseph’s lawyer finally convinced him to accept reality after seeing all my financial documentation.
They drafted a settlement where Joseph would receive $5,000 as a goodwill gesture and sign away any claims to my business or other assets. I agreed just to get everything finished and legally protected. We met at the mediator’s office on a Thursday afternoon to sign the final papers. Joseph’s signature was shaky, but he signed every page without complaining.
The mediator notorized everything and gave us each certified copies. That knot in my chest that had been there for months finally disappeared completely. I went back to my normal routine at the gym and focused on growing the baby. Dale came with me to every appointment and we practiced breathing exercises together in the evenings.
Everything felt calm and controlled until I was teaching a morning spin class 5 weeks before my due date. The first contraction hit hard enough that I had to grip the handlebars to stay upright. I tried to keep going, but the second one came just 3 minutes later. One of my regular members who was a nurse jumped off her bike and helped me to the office.
Dale answered his phone on the first ring and said he was on his way. He showed up in 12 minutes and helped me to his truck while staying completely calm. He grabbed the hospital bag we’d packed weeks ago and drove steady but fast while I breathed through contractions that kept getting stronger. The birth plan we’ practiced kicked in perfectly and the nurses were ready for us when we arrived at the emergency entrance.
They got me into a room right away and the contractions kept getting worse every couple minutes. The nurse checked me and said I was already at 6 cm, which explained why everything hurt so bad. Dale held my hand and counted through each contraction while I tried to remember all those breathing exercises we practiced. Hours went by with machines beeping and nurses coming in and out to check the monitors.
Around hour 8, things slowed down and the baby’s heart rate dropped a little, which made everyone move faster. The doctor came in and explained they might need to do a C-section if things didn’t pick up soon. I squeezed Dale’s hand harder and focused on pushing when they told me to. Another 4 hours of pushing and repositioning and the doctor using some kind of vacuum thing to help.
Finally, at 3:47 a.m., our daughter came out screaming, and they put her right on my chest. Dale actually cried when she wrapped her tiny fingers around his pinky, and I’d never seen him cry before. The nurses cleaned her up and weighed her while I got stitched up from tearing.
7 lb 2 o and perfectly healthy despite coming early. That night, while Dale slept in the uncomfortable chair next to my bed, I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message to Ashley. Just said I hoped her delivery went smoothly when her time came and to take care of herself. Felt weird, but also right somehow. She read it, but didn’t reply, which was fine.
We stayed two more nights in the hospital learning how to change diapers and swaddle and all that stuff. When we finally got home, there were containers of food stacked on our porch from my gym staff. They’d organized this whole meal train thing without me even asking, casserles and soups and salads all labeled with heating instructions.
I texted my assistant manager the passwords for the scheduling system and told her to handle everything for the next 2 weeks. She sent back a thumbs up and told me not to worry about anything. 3 weeks later, we had to go to the final mediation session, which I really didn’t want to do with a newborn, but it needed to happen.
Dale stayed in the waiting room with the baby while I went in. Joseph looked different somehow, calmer, maybe. He told the mediator about starting therapy twice a week and enrolling in some technical training program for HVAC certification. The divorce papers were all ready and he signed everything without arguing. When it was done, I felt this weird lightness in my chest.
2 months after that, Ashley had her baby and sent me one photo of a tiny boy wrapped in a blue blanket. The message just said, “Thanks for suggesting mediation instead of court battles. We weren’t going to be friends or anything, but at least we weren’t enemies.” I started bringing the baby to the gym for the early morning members only sessions since there was a quiet room I could use for nursing.
The business kept running smooth with my team handling most of the daily stuff while I checked in remotely. My parents called asking to visit and I gave them clear rules. 2 hours max, no talking about Joseph or Ashley, just focus on meeting their granddaughter. They actually showed up on time and followed every rule, which surprised me.
Mom held the baby and talked about her knitting projects while dad took about 50 photos. When their two hours were up, they left without arguing. That weekend, Dale and I sat on the floor surrounded by baby clothes we’d gotten as gifts. He mentioned maybe we should think about getting married next year or whenever felt right.
No rush, no pressure, just two people building something real together. We both knew we had time to figure it out. Appreciate you hanging out with me through all this. I’ve still got a ton of questions, but hey, that’s just how my brain works. I’ll see you around next time. If you made it to the end, drop a comment.
I love reading all your comments.