I always knew I wanted to be a mom. It was the one thing I was sure of, the dream I carried with me long before I met Bart. And when we matched on Tinder, ten years ago, I told him that right away. He thought it was cute—but not yet. So we planned, we traveled, we danced, and we spent endless Sundays wrapped up in each other, with nothing but music and warm skin between us.

And then, in what felt like an instant, I was in the backseat of his car, holding a baby, watching him drive slower than he ever had before.

Motherhood was everything I wanted. And yet, somewhere between sleepless nights, tiny hands reaching for me, and the weight of a life I had always dreamed of, I found myself standing in a dressing room, staring at a reflection I almost didn’t recognize. A flicker of something old, something new.

I took it home and tucked it away in a drawer—just in case.