I looked at him and the words he told me a year ago resounded in my head. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/af5315/620x0/1/0/2025/03/09/q3m9warrguqgds7axjaswvvvvvvskymp7ndlfq4t92n.jpg" alt = "pregnant woman @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (90,82,85.1)" > < p > — I can't look at you anymore. You became fat, neglected. This is not a woman who married oacute; < p > month after delivery.

< p > month after I gave birth to our child.

He left without hesitation, without reproach & in conscience.

< p > he left me alone, tired, sore, with an infant, which & oacute; re needed more than anyone before.

< p > A I ?

< p > I was asking why love had an expiry date.

< P >The first months were hell.

< p > sleepless nights, colic, crying, loneliness, which & oacute; rated me like a stone on my chest.

< p > I fought with my own body every day, which & oacute; recondered yet after pregnancy, with my own thoughts, which & oacute; re telling me that maybe he was right.

< p > that maybe I was not worth love anymore.

< p > that maybe I have never been.

< p > and then slowly began to breathe.

< p > small steps.

< p > my child's smile.

< p > first drunk warm coffee.

< p > long walks, during which & oacute; I learned to like my own reflection again.

< p > Every day I was back to me, which I thought I lost.

< p > It was no longer a weight.

< p > It was not about revenge.

< p > It was about me.

< p > and then I met him.

< p > year p & oacute;

< p > on the street, in a random place, as if fate wanted me to see it.

< p > It was the same.

< p > or maybe smaller ? maybe stooped under the weight of your own error & oacute; in ?

< p > his eyes moved after me, on my body, which & oacute; re was no longer the one who abandoned.

< p > — You look & hellip; Otherwise & mdash; he said carefully.

< p > I smiled.

< p > — I know.

< p > He looked at me as if he wanted to say something, but then M & Amp; Oacute; j my son grabbed my hand.

< p > and someone else stood next to me.

< p > someone who taught me to trust me again.

< p > I wasn't alone anymore.

< p > and for the first time in my life I felt that I should never be afraid of loneliness.

< p > because without him & hellip;

< p > I regained myself.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116