Sometimes I wondered whether I had ruined his life.
But whenever those thoughts became too loud, he would sit beside me and say:
“You and the baby are not ruining anything.”
“You're my family.”
And then I would stop talking.
Because there wasn't really anything I could say to that.
The Day Our Baby Arrived
Eventually, the day came.
I needed a cesarean section, and although I had tried to prepare myself mentally, nothing could have prepared me for the exhaustion that followed.
The first time I tried to get out of bed after the surgery, I felt as though my entire body had forgotten how to move.
Every step was slow.
Every movement hurt.
Even sitting up required effort.
And there was a newborn baby depending on me.
At that point, I felt completely overwhelmed.
I remember looking at our baby and feeling so much love that it almost hurt.
But alongside that love was fear.
What if I couldn't do this?
What if my body took too long to recover?
What if I couldn't be the mother our baby needed?
And where was our support system?
There wasn't one.
I had grown up without parents.
I was an orphan.
My husband’s parents were elderly and lived far away. They loved us, but they weren't in a position to come and care for us every day.
Some relatives suggested that I should return to my husband's hometown after giving birth.
They thought it would be easier there.
More relatives.
More help.
More people who could take care of me and the baby.
For a moment, I considered it.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe my husband needed a break.
But when the suggestion reached him, he refused.
“I want to stay here.”
Everyone tried to persuade him.
“You're working too much.”
“You need rest.”
“She needs help.”
“There are people at home who can take care of her.”
But he simply shook his head.
“She just had surgery.”
“She needs me.”
“I'll take care of her myself.”