Chapter 2. This Woman Is Not Me!

It’s a day off. We’re lying on the couch, talking about our week. I’m wrapped in his embrace. David feels so big—when we hug, he reminds me of Totoro, and I feel like a little girl next to him. I’ve always dreamed of having a family. A real one. The kind where everyone gathers around the same table, sharing the little details of their day. A family where children grow up knowing what it’s like when their parents truly love each other. A family filled with small traditions and private celebrations that exist just for us. I’ve always longed for something I never had. That dream grew with me, waiting for the right moment to come true. David is the purest source of care. He would never let me go hungry. He would always hold me when I was sad. He would wrap me in a blanket when I was cold and make me hot chocolate when I was in a bad mood. David is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I never had to drop hints about flowers—they were already waiting in a vase by the window. I never had to beg for a trip—he would simply ask, “Where to this time?” and book the tickets. David cried when he waited for me at the altar, watching me walk down the flower-lined aisle in a delicate white dress. With him, I feel secure about tomorrow. With him, I am not afraid to make mistakes. We touch fingertips as we chat about discounts on our favorite sweets at the store. His hands sometimes pause on my stomach, and though I can’t see his face, I can feel him smiling.

“Our baby will be so beautiful,” he whispers, gently stroking my belly. “Her soul will settle here very soon.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply, smiling too.

And then—suddenly—something tightens painfully in my chest. I clutch my left side instinctively. A strange sensation… I jerk away from David, my eyes wide with terror. This woman—she is not me. This woman—she is not me! I want to scream, but the words are stuck in my throat. Her hands reach for him, craving his warmth. Her body feels safe beside him. But I look at him through her eyes, and an unknown sorrow pierces my very soul. Who am I mourning? Tears stream down my cheeks like a Niagara Falls of grief. I can’t stop them—I can’t understand myself. I feel utterly foreign in this world. What is happening? David brings me tissues and strokes my head, trying to comfort me. But I don’t want his touch. I can barely breathe through the sobs. I am crying for someone I cannot remember. My body and soul—they are out of sync. What happened? What happened to me?

“It must be the hormones,” David says, trying to make sense of my breakdown.

I have no words for him. The tears fall onto my legs, heavy drops of sorrow, and it feels as if I’m drowning in them. Why does my heart ache so much? Why does it clench so painfully? The world blurs behind a veil of tears. Everything melts into an indistinct painting I cannot recognize. This grief wraps around me like ropes, binding me, seeping through me. Oh God, merciful Lord—what is happening to me? David gently lays me down on the couch and covers me with a blanket. I cry until I drift into sleep. And as I fall into slumber, one thought lingers: That night, in the haze of drowsy amnesia, I felt more real than I have in my entire life.