Chapter 9: A New Beginning

Annabelle’s POV

The days were getting heavier—literally and emotionally. I couldn’t sit for too long, I couldn’t lie down without shifting every five minutes, and I couldn’t even eat what I wanted without worrying it would cause heartburn or a stomach revolt.

My ankles were beginning to swell, and I waddled more than I walked. It was kind of embarrassing when strangers offered me a seat with pitiful smiles, but I was too exhausted to care.

And the cravings? Insane. One minute I wanted broccoli with pineapple, the next I wanted ice cubes and tomato stew. Together. Don’t ask.

Even getting dressed was a chore. Nothing fit right anymore, and bras were my enemy. I had maybe three tops I rotated between, and even those were starting to feel snug.

But what scared me the most wasn’t the discomfort—it was the creeping anxiety that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ready for this. Ready to become someone's everything.

I was finally getting the hang of this pregnancy—or at least I kept telling myself that. In truth, nothing about it felt easy. Not the swollen feet, not the sudden cravings at 2 a.m., and definitely not the waves of anxiety that came without warning. But I was still here, still breathing, and somehow still moving forward.

This was the most difficult part of my life—preparing to bring a new soul into the world alone. There were moments when I caught myself daydreaming about what it would’ve been like if the man who fathered my child was here with me. If things had gone differently that night, if Daniel hadn’t broken me in the way he did. If I hadn’t tried to escape my heartbreak by falling into the arms of a stranger—a handsome one, sure, but still a stranger.

I sighed, placing a hand on my belly. “We’re figuring it out, right?” I murmured to the little life growing inside me. The baby kicked in response, or maybe I imagined it. Either way, I smiled a little.

The mirror reflected back a version of me I wasn’t used to. My cheeks were fuller, my skin glowed in the sunlight that streamed through the window, and my bump had become undeniably round. People often told me I looked beautiful—too beautiful to be this far along. Some joked that I was definitely having a boy because girls supposedly “steal their mother’s beauty.” I didn’t believe in all that, but I liked the idea that my baby might be a boy. There was something about raising a son that felt like rewriting the story of the men in my life. Maybe this little one would be different.

That afternoon, my mom called out from the front yard. “Annabelle! Come sit with me a bit, the breeze is lovely!”

I walked slowly out to meet her, my hand resting protectively on my belly as I lowered myself into the worn wooden chair beside her. The garden smelled like jasmine and dry earth, and the rustle of the leaves overhead brought a rare sense of peace.

“How are you, my baby?” she asked gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I groaned. “Moooom… I’m not a baby anymore. I’m literally having an actual baby.”

She chuckled. “You’ll always be my baby. No matter how grown you get or how many babies you have of your own.”

I smiled despite myself. “I’m okay. A little tired. A little nervous. A little… everything.”

She nodded knowingly. “That’s normal.”

I hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Mom, I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, I’m doing it—but sometimes I wonder if I’m just pretending to be strong. What if I’m not ready to be a mom? What if I mess this up?”

Her eyes softened with concern, but not surprise. “You’re not pretending, Annabelle. You’re doing what every mother does—worrying if she’s enough. And I’ve watched you. You are more than enough.”

I swallowed. “But I’m scared. Not just of the birth or the sleepless nights. I’m scared that I’ll pass on my pain. That I’ll still be running from everything when he—” I paused. “When they get here.”

My mom reached for my hand, her grip firm and steady. “You’ve already started facing your past just by choosing to keep this child and start over. That’s strength. That’s healing. You’re not running anymore, sweetheart.”

I looked down, blinking away tears. “I didn’t expect to do this alone.”

“No one ever does.” She gave me a small, sad smile. “But you’re not truly alone. I’m here. And I’ve seen the way you’ve changed since finding out you were pregnant. You eat differently, sleep earlier, read parenting books like your life depends on it. You even yell at me when I forget to sanitize something.”

I laughed. “Well, to be fair, you did use the baby bottle to store sugar.”

“It was convenient!” she said with a mock frown, and we both burst into laughter.

The laughter died down, and for a moment we just sat there in silence, listening to the wind.

“Mom?” I asked softly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever regret anything from when you had me? Like… do you ever wish you did things differently?”

She was quiet for a long time. “Of course. I think every parent carries some regret. But I never regretted having you. Even when things were hard. Especially when things were hard.”

I nodded, absorbing her words like sunlight.

Later that evening, I sat alone on the bed, gently rubbing circles over my belly. The room was quiet except for the ticking clock and the hum of the ceiling fan.

“I don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl,” I whispered, “but I want you to know something—I’m trying. I’m trying really hard to be someone you’ll be proud of. I don’t have everything figured out, and I’m scared a lot of the time… but I already love you more than I thought was possible.”

A small kick answered me, and I smiled through the tears in my eyes.

“I hope you look like me. But with the patience I never had. And I hope you know you were wanted, even when the world around us was messy.”

I didn’t know what would come tomorrow. I didn’t know if Daniel would ever show up again, or if I’d ever tell him about this child. But for now, it didn’t matter.

I had my mom. I had this baby. I had a new name, a new city, a new chance.

I had a beginning.

And I was no longer afraid of what that meant.