The doorbell’s bright chime disrupted my excited anticipation. I smoothed the baby blue tablecloth and set down the ultrasound scans on the coffee table, displaying them proudly. After four months, Miles was returning from pursuing his football dreams.

He was coming home to a surprise. As he entered, sweat-streaked and weary, his eyes fixed on the swell beneath my dress. I was pregnant, but my excited anticipation faded under his intense gaze.

“Miles, we’re having a baby,” I stated, my voice wavering.

“I never wanted to be a father, Bella,” he scoffed. “You’re ruining everything!

Suddenly, I noticed his friend, Dave, standing right behind him. He spoke up from the doorway. “Stop yelling at her, man.”

“This is none of your business, Dave!” Miles snapped back and slammed the door in his friend’s face.

I clutched my belly protectively as tears blurred my vision. “I want this child, Miles. It’s part of us,” I insisted.

“I can’t deal with a baby now, Annabelle. It’s your problem if you keep it,” he shook his head.

“But I thought you loved me,” I whispered.

“That’s not enough. Love doesn’t win championships,” he retorted. “It’s the baby or me. You choose.”

“I won’t give up our child,” I declared, strength rising within me.

“Then leave my house—and my life!” he demanded, his eyes unyielding.

With a protective resolve for my unborn child, I packed my things and left, knowing I could never choose Miles over this new life.

Snowflakes spiraled under the streetlamp’s glow as I struggled with disbelief. Miles’ betrayal echoed in my mind, shattering my dreams for the future. I sat on a snow-draped step, cradling my belly, feeling utterly alone.

Echoes of my lonely past – growing up in an orphanage and never making familial connections – loomed over me. But out of nowhere, Dave appeared, his concern etched in the snow-melted paths on his face.

“Annabelle, come with me until you figure things out,” he offered, kneeling to look into my eyes.

I hesitated, pride warring with desperation. “I can’t, Dave. I don’t want your pity.”

His earnest plea broke through my resolve as a sudden pain clenched my abdomen. “You need a safe place. Let’s go,” Dave insisted.

Reluctantly, I acquiesced, guided more by necessity than choice, and we drove through the blizzard to his cozy, cluttered home. It was such a different atmosphere than what I’d known with Miles, filled with warmth and haphazard charm.

Mismatched furniture and overflowing bookshelves spoke of a life well-lived.

“Thank you,” I murmured, grateful yet overwhelmed.

While I settled in, Dave fumbled with hospitality, offering me food and insisting on my comfort. Dinner was simple but nurturing, and it brought a semblance of peace. But when Dave told me he was sleeping on the couch, I had to protest.

“I’m not a burden, Dave. You should be comfortable in your own home,” I shook my head.

“It’s fine, Annabelle. Rest now. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow.”

***

I lay in Dave’s guest room, struggling against the haunting memory of Miles’ indifferent gaze. Sleep eventually claimed me after several hours of sifting through painful thoughts and tears.

A week later, the rhythm of life with Dave brought a semblance of normalcy. He was ever considerate, his kindness so different from what I knew with my ex. However, I had to fend for myself.

One crisp morning, after Dave left for work, I slipped out with a heavy heart. I’d taken a supermarket delivery job, so I wouldn’t burden him with more of my troubles.

But the job proved harder than I imagined. Trudging through the snow, the weight of groceries, and my growing discomfort only made things harder. Also, I should’ve known Dave would try to find me.

Suddenly, his car pulled alongside me on a busy sidewalk. His expression was full of worry and astonishment.

“Annabelle, why are you working like this?” he asked.

Trying to downplay my efforts, I mentioned needing the job for my prenatal needs. Dave frowned and shook his head angrily, but I know it stemmed from care and concern.

“I can’t just sit around, Dave. I need to prepare for the baby,” I continued, my resolve firm.

He sighed, leading me to the back of his car. “Let me show you something,” he said, opening the trunk and revealing a collection of maternity essentials. I began crying, overwhelmed by his thoughtful preparation.

“Why all this, Dave?” I inquired through the tears.

“It’s for you and the little one,” he said with a heartfelt smile. “You’re going to be an amazing mother, Annabelle.”

His words and actions, so full of unconditional support, deepened my gratitude. Hugging him, I whispered, “You’ll make a great dad someday, too.”

Still, I was still hesitant. Accepting even more from Dave seemed wrong. But he proposed a trade-off: my cooking for his support. He also joked and teased me, and that light-hearted banter eased the tension in my body and heart.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I laughed genuinely. Over the next few days, our pact became a beautiful routine at his house. I found solace in the simple acts of kindness he showered upon me.

At the supermarket, I resolved to leave my job. I could afford to, at least for now, thanks to Dave’s support. And as time passed, our connection deepened.

Dave’s gentle presence became a constant in my life. His care was evident in every gesture, from tying my shoes to surprising me with thoughtful gifts.

One day, as he felt the baby kick, the joy in his eyes sparked a realization in me: I was falling in love with him. But fear crept in, overshadowing my newfound happiness. Could someone like Dave truly love a soon-to-be single mother with a complicated past?

These thoughts haunted me, and I wrestled with the idea of confessing my feelings, fearful of risking the precious bond we’d built.

***

During a routine chicken casserole night, Dave arrived from work, smiling tiredly. “Smells incredible,” he complimented, placing some tulips on the table.

As we ate, he praised the meal. “Annabelle, this is phenomenal. Reminds me of my mom’s cooking.”

I felt warmth running through my body at his words. So, as we talked, our shared memories made me bold. “I’m so glad you liked it, honey,” I said, immediately regretting the slip.

Dave’s reaction was immediate: his smile faltered. Our pleasant moment was shattered, and I panicked. “Dave? I… it’s just pregnancy brain, I’m sorry,” I stammered, trying to lighten the mood.

He attempted a grin again but stood from the table. “Delicious, as always. Thanks,” he said, leaving the room abruptly.

The following days were filled with awkward silences. Dave’s behavior changed; he left early and returned late. His greetings were brief, and his eyes always avoided mine.

One afternoon, I was curled up on the couch, lost in a sea of worry and self-loathing, when a sharp electronic chime shattered the oppressive silence.

It was a voicemail notification on Dave’s phone, lying abandoned on the coffee table.

A woman’s voice, professional and polite, filled the room. “Mr. Evans, this is a reminder that the documents for your new apartment are ready for pick-up at your convenience.”

The message struck like a blow, sinking my heart. Dave was planning to move. Heartbroken, I realized I couldn’t stay, not as a reminder of a complicated situation he wanted to escape.

So, I decided to go, my heart even heavier than when I tried to leave before. “We have each other, my little boy,” I whispered to my belly, preparing to face the world alone as I packed.

Before I could leave, though, the blare of the doorbell made my entire body jerk. For a second, I thought it was Dave, but I opened the door to see Miles, who sneered at my pregnant form. His first words dripped with disdain. “Motherhood’s added a few pounds, huh?”

“What do you want, Miles?” I asked, my voice sharp.

He breezed past, dismissing my anger with a smirk. “Just checking on you and my bachelor buddy’s hospitality,” he said, his tone patronizing.

His audacity stunned me. “Get out,” I demanded.

He ignored my command, finally getting to the point. “Let’s be a family, Annabelle. Think of the publicity for me, the ‘devoted dad.'”

Publicity? For his football career? Was he insane? He wanted to use our child for his gain! Revolted, I pushed him away, condemning his monstrous selfishness.

Miles laughed. “What are you going to do without me? You think Dave took you in because he loved you? Cared about you and your baggage? You were just another project, a chance to play hero. A charity case, not his ladylove.”

For a second, I considered his words, my thoughts warring in my head. But a sudden pain, sharp and unavoidable, distracted me. A few beats later, liquid splashed on the floor.

“My water broke, Miles,” I gasped, panic setting in as another contraction hit.

His reaction shifted from mockery to horror. “The baby’s coming?” he asked, staggering back in disbelief.

As pain overwhelmed me, Miles fainted, and darkness edged my vision. But during the chaos, Dave’s voice reached me, like a knight ready to save the princess.

“Annabelle? Are you alright?” Dave asked, worriedly taking my hand. “We need to go to the hospital.”

“I… I’m so sorry, Dave,” I stammered, tears blurring my vision further. “For everything. For intruding into your life, for making you take care of me all these months. I know… about the new apartment. You were moving out because of me.”

Dave frowned and then, sighed, exasperated. “You’ve got it all wrong. The apartment is for us, Annabelle,” he explained. “It has a nursery for our baby. I love you.”

Another sharp pain overtook my body before I could gush over his confession. Dave scooped me in his arms and put me in his car, not even caring that Miles was still unconscious on his tiled floor.

The drive to the hospital was full of agony and anticipation. Our baby boy Matthew’s arrival was a chorus of cries and relief, but it marked the beginning of our new journey, one full of love.

Years later, with the birth of our daughter Hope, our family became complete. Dave’s unwavering passion and protectiveness turned past pains into distant memories I never thought about again.

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