“Don’t Come Looking Like You” — But She Showed Up Anyway My fingers hurt as I unlocked my front door that night. The smell of cleaning chemicals still clung to me, like I had become part of them. My sneakers dragged across the floor, heavy from a long day. I hadn’t sat down properly since sunrise. Thirteen hours. That’s how long I’d been working on my feet today. The bathrooms at the fancy Westfield Hotel don’t scrub themselves, and Mr. Davidson had asked if I could stay late. “Three more

I had spent years dreaming about this baby. Years of hope, heartbreak, and silent prayers. And then, the moment finally came—I found out I was pregnant. I ran to tell my husband, Aiden, my heart pounding with joy, but his first words shattered everything. “Is it too late to undo it?” he asked. Just days later, his mother gave me a cruel condition to stay in the family. The fight for my baby had only just begun. Most of my friends had already become mothers. They shared stories of late-night

I came home earlier than planned, expecting the usual chaos—my kids running up to me, shouting, hugs flying everywhere, and John with that slow, sweet smile I’ve loved for twelve years. But when I stepped inside, the house was weirdly quiet and empty. No laughter, no noise—just silence. I dropped my suitcase and looked out the kitchen window. Right there, in the middle of our backyard, was a huge, strange tent. I blinked hard. A tent? We didn’t even own one. My heart started to beat faster. Suddenly, the tent