When I announced my pregnancy, my mother-in-law said, “get rid of it.”

She promised she would be there for every moment of my labor if I wanted her there, holding my hand and supporting me however I needed. The instructor praised Mom for being such an attentive birth partner and I realized I wasn’t actually doing this alone.

Even though Thomas had left, I had my mother’s steady support and love, which was worth more than a husband who couldn’t stand up to his own mother. We practiced different positions for managing contractions and Mom wrote down notes about what seemed to work best for me.

Other couples in the class had partners who looked nervous or uncomfortable, but Mom was calm and confident, ready to help me through whatever came. At 34 weeks Julie did an ultrasound and confirmed the baby was head down in perfect position for delivery.

Everything looked great for a normal birth. Julie reviewed my birth plan, adding detailed notes to my chart about the security concerns regarding the Rossy family.

She flagged my file so that hospital security would be notified if anyone from that family tried to access the maternity ward. The hospital social worker came in afterward to meet with me and discuss my rights as a patient and the protocols they had in place to protect people from unwanted visitors.

She explained that I could have a security guard stationed outside my room during labor and delivery if I wanted. She said that no one would be given any information about me or my baby without my explicit permission.

They had dealt with family situations like mine before and took patient safety seriously. I signed forms authorizing only specific people to visit me and receive information.

The list included my parents, Roman, and a few close friends, but absolutely no one from the Rossy family. The social worker assured me they would enforce my wishes and that Margaret wouldn’t get anywhere near me or my baby.

Knowing the hospital had my back made me feel safer about the actual birth.

Final Preparations and the Choice

I woke up one morning at 35 weeks with sharp pains in my belly that sent me into immediate panic. I was convinced I was going into early labor and grabbed my phone to call Mom with shaking hands.

She came over within minutes and started timing the contractions, watching the clock while I breathed through the discomfort. After 20 minutes of timing she told me they were Braxton Hicks practice contractions that were normal and didn’t mean real labor.

I felt stupid for overreacting. But Mom just laughed.

“Every first time mother panicked over Braxton Hicks at some point,” she said. We ended up laughing together about my panic and she made me tea while explaining how to tell the difference between practice contractions and real ones.

At my next therapy session with Esther I admitted I was terrified of the actual birth and of becoming a mother. I was scared I wouldn’t know what to do or that something would go wrong.

Esther helped me work through the fear and acknowledged that it was completely normal to be scared while also being excited. She reminded me that women had been giving birth forever and that I had good support and medical care.

The fear didn’t go away completely, but talking about it made it feel more manageable. Thomas’s sister reached out through social media with a long private message saying she had cut contact with Margaret over how she had treated me.

She apologized again for not speaking up at that awful family dinner and said she couldn’t stay silent anymore about her mother’s cruelty. She asked if she could be part of the baby’s life someday, acknowledging that she understood if I said no but hoping I’d consider it.

I read the message three times trying to decide if she was genuine or if this was some scheme from Margaret. I wrote back cautiously, saying we could revisit the conversation after the baby was born once I saw whether she actually maintained her boundaries with Margaret.

I told her I appreciated the apology but needed to see consistent action over time before trusting her around my daughter. She responded thanking me for even considering it and promising she was serious about standing up to their mother.

Her rebellion against Margaret gave me a tiny bit of hope that not everyone in that family was completely lost, though I stayed guarded about her intentions. Roman surprised me by organizing a baby shower with help from my parents and Aunt Chameleia.

I walked into my parents’ house thinking we were just having Sunday dinner and found the living room full of people and decorations. Cole was there with his sister; friends from prenatal class had come and even Gideon’s wife showed up with a beautifully wrapped gift.

The house was filled with people who actually loved and supported me, celebrating my daughter’s upcoming arrival with genuine joy. Roman had made a banner that said, “Welcome baby girl,” in careful letters and had organized games and food.

Everyone brought gifts and shared advice and stories, treating me like family even though some of them barely knew me. I thought about the shower Margaret would have thrown if things had been different.

I thought about how it would have been about her and her expectations and her vision of the perfect grandchild. This celebration was about welcoming my daughter exactly as she was with people who would love her no matter what.

I cried happy tears when Roman gave a little speech about being excited to be an uncle and promised to teach his niece everything he knew. The contrast between this loving celebration and the Rossy family’s cruelty couldn’t have been clearer.

At 36 weeks I had everything ready and was just waiting for labor to start. The nursery was complete with the crib assembled and tiny clothes washed and folded in the dresser.

I had packed my hospital bag and installed the car seat and read all the baby care books. My body felt huge and uncomfortable.

My back ached constantly and I couldn’t sleep well anymore, but underneath the physical discomfort was a strange sense of peace. I had built a life that didn’t include Thomas or his toxic family and I was surrounded by people who would love my daughter for exactly who she was.

At my therapy session Esther pointed out how much I had grown from the devastated woman who had first come to her office months ago. Then I had been broken by Thomas’ betrayal and terrified of being a single mother.

Now I was confident in my choices and excited to meet my daughter, supported by people who actually cared about me. I had left a marriage that was destroying me and created something better in its place.

Esther was right about the growth even though I hadn’t really noticed it happening gradually over all these months.

The Arrival of Lily

I woke up at 3:00 in the morning to a pain that squeezed my entire belly like someone was wringing out a towel. This wasn’t the practice contractions I had been having for weeks; this was real labor and my daughter was coming.

I grabbed my phone and called Mom, trying to keep my voice steady even though my hands were shaking. She answered on the first ring like she had been waiting for this call.