Therapy became my weekly anchor.
Dr. Alvarez didn’t let me romanticize my pain.
She didn’t let me demonize Blake beyond the facts either.
She asked harder questions.
“What are you afraid of now?”
“Being alone,” I admitted.
“And what else?”
“Repeating patterns,” I said quietly.
She nodded.
“What pattern?”
“Believing charm over character,” I whispered.
That one hit hard.
Blake had been charming.
Attentive.
Romantic.
But charm isn’t integrity.
Charm is performance.
Integrity is what someone does when no one is watching.
And Blake had failed that test spectacularly.
“Your baby will learn from what you tolerate,” Dr. Alvarez said gently.
That sentence became my compass.
5. The Ultrasound Alone
The next ultrasound appointment was the hardest.
Blake wasn’t there.
There was an empty chair beside the exam table.
The technician glanced at it, then at me, then didn’t ask questions.
The screen lit up.
There was the baby.
Moving.
Alive.
Tiny fingers.
Tiny heartbeat.
I felt tears slide down my face.
“Everything looks good,” the technician said softly.
I nodded.
When I got home, I placed the new ultrasound photo on my mom’s refrigerator.
Not in a frame.
Not on a nightstand.
On the fridge.
