I came home from the hospital with our newborn baby and found the locks changed. My husband told me to leave. Twenty hours later, he was back… banging on the door, shouting it was “life or death.” I didn’t know the real shock was still coming.I had waited a long time to become a mother. Not in the dramatic, movie-style way: just quietly, patiently, year after year, watching other people announce pregnancies while I smiled and told myself, one day.My husband, Raymond, and I talked about it late at night, in bed, voices low like the dream might scare itself away if we spoke too loudly.

When it finally happened, I was terrified and euphoric at the same time.Pregnancy wasn’t easy for me. I was tired all the time. My back ached. My feet swelled.Ray tried to be calm for both of us. He read articles. Installed apps. Timed contractions that didn’t matter yet. He talked to my belly when he thought I wasn’t listening.”This kid is already tougher than both of us,” he’d say.We planned everything carefully. Ray promised he’d take time off work to stay with us the first week.He said, more than once, “I’ve got you. You won’t be alone in this.”So when I gave birth — exhausted, stitched, overwhelmed — I held onto that promise like a lifeline.That’s why, two days later, standing on my front porch with my newborn in my arms, the locked door didn’t just confuse me. It broke something I thought was unbreakable.