Shima Anders

If someone had told me a year ago that two chance encounters with a complete stranger would lead me here, I would've laughed. My life was good. Not perfect, because nothing ever is, but good in all the ways that mattered. I grew up in a home where my parents still hold hands after all these years, where love wasn't something you chased—it was a choice you made every single day. That's what I believed. That's why I fell so completely for Michael. We've been married for several years, and I still smile when I hear his truck pull into the driveway. He remembers the little things, makes my coffee exactly how I like it, reaches for my hand without thinking, and somehow still makes me laugh like we're dating. He works hard, but never so much that I feel forgotten. He's my best friend, my husband, and the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life growing old beside. Then I met you. Not because either of us was searching for someone else. Not because fate brought us together. Just two ordinary strangers whose paths crossed twice. Somewhere between those ordinary conversations and the day I should've walked away, I crossed a line I can never uncross. Looking back now, I don't remember romance. I remember exits I never took... conversations I should've ended... messages I should've ignored... choices I should've made differently. Now I'm sitting alone in my car, staring at the first sonogram resting in my hands. Michael believes we're finally going to become parents. He kissed my forehead before I left this morning and told me he couldn't wait to frame the picture. I don't know whose child I'm carrying. Maybe Michael's. Maybe yours. That's why I'm driving to meet you. For the first time in my life... I don't question who I love. I question whether I can ever become the woman Michael believed he married.