As she hugged me, I noticed her looking at the large birthmark on my shoulder.“In my teenage years, I thought about removing it because I didn’t like it, but now I consider it my unique feature,” I said, trying to make light of it. Martha looked at me puzzled. “I’m talking about the birthmark,” I added for clarity. “Oh, yes. It’s very nice,” Martha said, rushing off. I didn’t understand her behavior, but decided to ignore it. Maybe she remembered she was late for something. As I left the café, I felt a mix of relief and curiosity, wondering more about this woman who would be by my side during such an important moment.Time passed, and my due date was approaching. It was hard without David during this period, but Martha was very supportive.
She visited almost every day and even helped with household chores. Her presence was comforting, and she always knew how to calm my nerves. I felt like Martha understood me like no one else, as if we were related, and I couldn’t shake that feeling.David was supposed to fly back home that day, and I just hoped he would make it before our baby started to arrive. Martha and I were checking my hospital bag, probably for the tenth time due to my anxiety. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything you need is there.
If anything is missing, I’ll definitely bring it,” Martha said, her voice calm and reassuring. “I know, I just want everything to go perfectly,” I replied, trying to hide my anxiety.“Oh, dear. This is childbirth; it can’t be perfect. But your baby will be, and that’s what matters,” she said, smiling. “Thank you, Martha,” I said, feeling a bit better. I went to the kitchen to pour myself some cold juice.
As I approached the fridge, I felt something was wrong. I realized my water bag had broken. I immediately went to Martha. “My water broke,” I said, panicking, my voice trembling.“Quick, sit down,” Martha said, helping me to the couch. Within seconds, I felt the first contraction and screamed. “Breathe, remember how I taught you to breathe,” Martha said. But the pain was too intense for me to think clearly. “Breathe, Amber, breathe,” she said, and it snapped me out of my panic. “What did you call me?” I asked, confused.“I meant Sheila, sorry, I made a mistake,” Martha said quickly. “But you need to focus on your breathing now.” “When I was born, they named me Amber. But my mother abandoned me, and my adoptive parents renamed me when I was a year old, right after they adopted me.
Don’t tell me this is a coincidence,” I pressed her, my heart racing. “Sheila, it truly is just a coincidence,” Martha said, her face serious.“What happened to the baby? You said you gave birth but have no children. What happened to that baby?” I asked, my voice rising. “I gave her up for adoption,” Martha answered quietly. “It was me, wasn’t it? I felt something was off. I noticed we were too similar,” I said, my voice shaking. “Sheila, you need to focus on your baby now,” Martha said, trying to keep me calm.“It was me?!” I shouted, feeling a mix of anger and confusion. “Yes,” Martha admitted. “And how long have you known?” I demanded. “Since our first meeting when I saw your birthmark,” Martha said, her eyes filled with regret.“I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me all this time!” I cried, feeling betrayed. “Sheila, I wanted to do the right thing,” she said, her voice breaking. “It doesn’t matter.
I don’t want to see you,” I said, struggling to get up from the couch, grabbing my hospital bag, and heading to the car. “What are you doing?” Martha shouted after me.“I’m driving myself to the hospital, and you can leave. I don’t want to see you,” I replied, my mind set. “That’s dangerous!” she shouted, but I ignored her.
The contractions were coming fast, but I couldn’t think about anything other than getting to the hospital and being away from Martha. I got into the car, feeling intense contractions but trying to drive anyway. The pain was overwhelming, making it hard to focus on the road.
The drive to the hospital felt endless, each bump and turn amplifying the agony.I kept trying to call David, but he wasn’t answering his phone. He was probably still on the plane. I prayed he would make it in time. When I finally reached the hospital, nurses surrounded me with concern.
They asked me many questions I couldn’t answer in my state. They quickly put me in a room, and a doctor told me I would give birth within two hours.My labor was progressing rapidly.
David still hadn’t called me back, and the worry added to my pain. My whole body was in agony, and I felt like I couldn’t bear it any longer. Suddenly, I saw the door to the room open, and Martha walked in. “I don’t want to see you!” I screamed, my voice filled with pain and anger. Martha calmly approached me. “I called David. He was leaving the airport and should be on his way here,” she said. “I know you’re angry, but I can help you until David arrives.”“I don’t need anything from you!” I shouted, but then another contraction began, making me cry out in pain. Martha breathed with me and applied a cold compress to my head.
I decided to stop arguing.
I really needed support, even if it was from the woman who had abandoned me and then lied. An hour later, the pushing began, and the doctor said it was time to give birth. “I don’t want to give birth without David!” I cried. “He should be here soon.” “Sweetheart, the baby is the priority now, and we can’t delay,” Martha said gently.“No! I want my husband by my side!” I pleaded, but they didn’t listen. The doctor and nurses gathered around me. “Please, wait for David!” Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and a breathless David walked in. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he said, taking my hand. Relief washed over me as I felt his strong grip.
David and Martha supported and helped me as much as they could. Martha held my hand and reminded me to breathe, while David stayed by my side, encouraging me.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my daughter was born. It was the best and happiest moment of my life. Her first cry filled the room, and tears of joy streamed down my face.A few hours after the birth, Martha came to me.
David was asleep in a chair, holding our daughter. “I’m sorry for abandoning you and lying, but—” Martha began, her voice soft and filled with regret. I interrupted her, “I don’t want to talk about this now. But we will discuss it later, and you will explain everything to me.”I didn’t want to spoil this day with unpleasant conversations. Martha nodded sadly and was about to leave the room. “Can you bring me some cold juice? I didn’t get to drink it,” I asked her, trying to keep things light. Martha smiled. “Of course,” she said and left the room. As I watched her go, I thought that now that I was a mother myself, maybe I could understand why she did what she did.
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