Chapter 13
The pregnancy was wonderful.
David took care of everything. He made sure I ate right. He rubbed my feet when they swelled. He talked to my belly every night, telling our baby how much he or she was loved.
My mother fussed over me. She knitted baby clothes. She prepared the nursery. She told me stories about when I was a baby.
Lisa threw me a baby shower. Sarah came. Lily helped me open the presents.
It was a time of joy. Of anticipation. Of love.
But there was one shadow.
Ryan.
He was still in prison. But he'd found out about the pregnancy.
How, I don't know. Maybe his mother told him. Maybe he saw it in the local news—David and I were well-known in the community now, thanks to the trial.
Whatever the reason, he sent me a letter.
I found it in the mailbox one afternoon. The return address was the state prison.
My hands shook as I opened it.
"Emily," it began.
"I heard you're pregnant. With his baby."
"You think you've won, don't you? You think you've got the perfect life now. The perfect husband. The perfect family. But you're wrong."
"You'll never be free of me. I'm always going to be there. In the back of your mind. Reminding you of what I did. Reminding you of how easily I fooled you."
"You think your new husband loves you? He'll leave you too. They all do. No one could ever really love you. Not the way I pretended to."
"When I get out of here, I'm going to find you. I'm going to find your baby. And I'm going to take everything from you. Just like you took everything from me."
The letter was unsigned. But I knew who it was from.
I felt sick.
I ran inside and threw up.
David found me on the bathroom floor, crying, the letter crumpled in my hand.
He read it. His face grew dark with anger.
"This is harassment. Threats. I'm calling Karen. I'm calling the prison. He's not going to get away with this."
He did.
Karen filed a complaint with the prison. Ryan was put in solitary confinement for two weeks. His mail privileges were revoked. A restraining order was extended to cover our baby when he or she was born.
But the damage was done.
I was scared again.
I started having nightmares. Nightmares about Ryan getting out of prison. About him hurting me. Hurting my mother. Hurting David. Hurting our baby.
I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I was anxious all the time.
David was worried.
"Emily, you need to talk to someone. A therapist. You can't keep carrying this around."
I knew he was right.
I started seeing a therapist. A woman who specialized in trauma and abuse.
She helped me. She taught me that Ryan's words were just words. That he was angry and bitter and powerless. That he couldn't hurt me anymore.
She helped me face my fears. Helped me heal.
My mother was my rock. She held me when I was scared. She reminded me of how strong I was. Of how far I'd come.
"You survived him once, baby," she said. "You'll survive his words. And you'll be even stronger."
And she was right.
Slowly, the fear faded. The nightmares stopped. I started sleeping again. Eating again.
I focused on the baby. On the life growing inside me. On the love that surrounded me.
Ryan was in prison. He was powerless. He had nothing but his anger and his bitterness.
And I had everything.
A loving husband. A wonderful mother. A beautiful home. A baby on the way. Friends who loved me. A family that supported me.
I had won.
And no letter from a bitter, angry man in prison could take that away from me.
Our daughter was born on a warm summer night.
She was perfect. Seven pounds, eight ounces. Ten fingers, ten toes. A head full of dark hair.
We named her Grace.
Because that's what we'd been given. Grace. A second chance at happiness.
My mother was the first to hold her after David and me. She cried as she looked down at her granddaughter.
"She's perfect," she whispered. "Just like her mother."
Sarah came to the hospital the next day. She brought Lily.
Lily looked at the baby with wonder.
"She's so small," she said.
"She is," I agreed. "Would you like to hold her?"
Lily nodded solemnly.
She sat in a chair and I placed Grace in her arms. She held her carefully, like she was made of glass.
"I'm going to be the best cousin ever," she said.
We all laughed.
And in that moment, surrounded by the people I loved, holding my perfect baby girl, I knew that everything I'd been through had been worth it.
The pain. The betrayal. The fear.
All of it had led me here.
May you like
To this moment.
To this perfect, beautiful life.
