It was past midnight, my only time to let the mask slip. Upstairs, my boys were sound asleep, unaware of how close we were to losing everything.

I rested a hand on my swollen belly.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to my unborn child. “I’m trying my best, but it’s not enough.”

Not long ago, life felt steady. I had Derek, a husband who once seemed devoted, and three beautiful kids, with another on the way.

Then, one evening, my world turned upside down. Derek walked through the door with a look I couldn’t place.

“I’m leaving,” he said flatly.

“What?” I gasped. “Why? I thought we were happy!”

He laughed bitterly. “You were happy, Anne! Not me! All you care about are the kids. I’m just a paycheck to you, and I’m done.”

Just a paycheck? I thought. Is that what my love felt like? All the years of hard work I’d put in to look after our kids? Where did that go?

I was too stunned to argue as he slammed the door behind him, but his words haunted me.

Soon, I picked myself up and got a part-time job at the local grocery store. I tried my best to make ends meet, but it didn’t work.

Child support barely covered the basics, and soon, I had to sell every treasure I owned just to keep the lights on.

Then, one morning, I looked at the old stroller I’d brought up from the basement.

It was a family heirloom, used by all my kids, and I’d planned to use it for the new baby.

But now, I needed food more than sentiment. Swallowing my tears, I took it to the flea market, where a dealer gave me $50.

I happily accepted the offer, thinking the money would keep our tummies full for a few days.

I went home and put my mask on, ensuring none of my babies knew what I was going through.

Two days later, I was all set to go to work when my gaze landed on something unexpected. The stroller was back, sitting on my porch with an envelope inside.

My hands trembled as I opened it.

It was a note with a phone number. It read, Please call me.

Curious, I dialed the number. A soft voice answered. “Hello?”

“I think you left a stroller on my porch,” I began cautiously. “How did you know it belonged to me? How did you find my address?”

“Derek told me,” the woman on the other end said. “My name is Grace. I think we should meet.”

An hour later, Grace sat across from me in my living room. She was younger than me but looked pale and blotchy. She looked like she’d been crying.

I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“I was Derek’s girlfriend,” she began.

“Was?” I asked.

“We broke up today,” she said as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I didn’t know about you or the kids. Or the baby. I found out I was pregnant and thought he’d be thrilled. I even bought the stroller at the flea market to surprise him.”

Grace described decorating the stroller with balloons and a note that read, Hello, Dad! But Derek’s reaction had been anything but joyful.

“He started yelling, asking if his ‘stupid wife’ sold it to me as a joke. He asked me to return the stroller to you. That’s when I realized I wasn’t the only one.”

I sighed. “And now?”

“He kicked me out saying he didn’t want kids. I have no family here, and I can’t afford rent. I don’t know what to do. I have nowhere to go!”

The look on her face told me she wasn’t lying. She was helpless, and it seemed like I was her last hope. That’s when an excellent idea struck my mind.

“Don’t worry,” I said firmly, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I need help with the kids, and you need a place to live. You can stay here, Grace.”

“But,” she looked at me. “It’s Derek’s baby… Are you sure you—”

“No,” I corrected her gently. “It’s your baby and my children’s sibling. That’s all that matters.”

Grace moved in the next day.

Her online job let her watch the kids after school, which allowed me to accept a full-time position at the grocery store.

When my baby was born, Grace held my hand. When her baby arrived four months later, I was by her side.

Soon, we became a family and raised our children together in a home filled with love.