I always dreamed of becoming a mother, and finally, my dream was coming true. My husband David and I had been trying for a long time, and eight months ago, I finally saw those two lines on the pregnancy test. But joy turned to anxiety when David announced he had to leave for a business trip just weeks before my due date.

“David, please talk to me. It’s hard for me to see you like this,” I said. He admitted he was worried about being away during the birth, but assured me he had arranged for a doula, Martha, to support me.

Despite my initial reluctance, Martha and I met and bonded quickly. Her presence became a comfort during David’s absence. One day, as my due date neared, my water broke. Martha called David, who rushed home just in time.

During labor, I discovered that Martha was my biological mother, a fact she had hidden since our first meeting. “Yes, I gave her up for adoption,” she admitted. Despite my anger, I let her stay to help.

David arrived moments before our daughter was born. It was the happiest moment of my life, and I forgave Martha, understanding her decisions as a mother myself.

“Can you bring me some cold juice?” I asked Martha, trying to keep things light. She smiled and obliged, and I felt a sense of peace and closure.