I never thought I’d be here, holding my baby girl and feeling like my world was falling apart. Tim and I had been together for ten years, trying to start a family for most of that time. We’d been through so much together, and there would be so much more to come.

“Remember when we first started trying?” I asked Tim one night, early in my pregnancy. We were curled up on the couch, his hand on my barely-there bump.

The divorce was messy but quick. I got full custody of Lily. Tim’s betrayal had cost him everything.

Mia helped me move into a new apartment. As we unpacked boxes, she asked, “How are you holding up?”

I looked at Lily, sleeping peacefully in her playpen. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “There are moments when I miss the life I thought I had. The family I thought we were going to be.”

“That’s normal,” Mia reassured me. “You’re grieving the future you planned. But you’re building a new one, a better one.”

Six months later, I was settled into my new life. Co-parenting with Tim was awkward, but we made it work for Lily’s sake.

One evening, as I rocked my baby girl to sleep, I thought about everything that had happened. The years of trying, the losses we’d endured, the betrayal that had shattered our family before it even began.

“We’re gonna be okay, little one,” I whispered. “Mommy’s got this.”

As I put her down in her crib, I realized something: I was stronger than I’d ever thought possible. And that strength would carry us both through whatever life threw our way next.

I looked at the photo on Lily’s dresser, taken just days after she was born. Tim and I were smiling, exhausted but happy, with no idea of the storm that was coming.

“We’ve come a long way, baby girl,” I murmured. “And we’ve got a long way to go. But we’ll do it together.”

What would you have done?