Chapter 3

The diary cut off right here.

The rest of the pages were empty.

I ran my fingers over the page, feeling the smudged writing and the warped paper where tears had soaked in.

This wasn't my first pregnancy. I'd already lost a child.

To him, Isla was always number one. My baby and I could be put on the back burner anytime she was in one of her bad moods.

My chest felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer, the ache radiating all over.

I closed the diary and put it back in the metal box.

I locked it up.

And with that, I shut away the Amalie who spent twelve years loving Lester, losing herself along the way.

From today on, I was just me. A woman with a baby, ready to start over.

I swapped out my old SIM card for a new one, snapped the old one in half, and tossed it in the trash.

I wiped clean or deleted every social media account I could. I cut off anyone linked to Lester.

I was like a cicada, completely shedding the shell of "Mrs. Browning."

After three days of unpacking, cleaning, and organizing, the place finally felt like home.

I registered my address at the community center and opened a prenatal file at the nearest hospital. The doctor reminded me about all sorts of things to be careful about and prescribed folic acid and prenatal vitamins.

Money was a problem.

I didn't have much cash left. Most of my little savings had gone to the security deposit and stocking up on essentials, so now I had to stretch every dollar.

I had to find a job, fast.

I majored in design in college, and after graduation, I spent two years as a design assistant at a jewelry company under the Browning Group.

But then Isla decided she didn't want "irrelevant people" hanging around her precious Lester, so he made me quit and told me to stay home and play the perfect Mrs. Browning.

Now, my resume had a four-year gap.

I updated my resume and sent it out to a bunch of small and mid-sized design firms and studios. I set the bar low, starting from the bottom.

While waiting for replies, I went to the wholesale market and stocked up on yarn and craft supplies.

Back in college, I was pretty good at crafts. I crocheted dolls and woven accessories, which always sold well at the flea markets. Now I was picking up those old skills again, making crafts to earn a bit of cash while taking care of myself and the baby.

During the day, I'd sit out on the balcony, crocheting adorable little plushies like bears, bunnies, and tigers. The baby in my belly seemed to enjoy it. Whenever my hands got busy, they would go still, almost like they were quietly listening.

At night, I'd sketch designs under the warm glow of the lamp. No more glamorous, pricey jewelry, only sweet, simple brooches, hairpins, and bracelets. My drawings looked a bit childlike, but they were bursting with energy.

A week later, I got my first interview call.

It was a small handmade brand looking for a design assistant, with their studio set up in a creative arts park.

I put on my loosest, comfiest dress and headed out.

Kristen Valencia, the founder of the studio, was the one interviewing me. She rocked a messy bun and had this easy, infectious smile. As soon as she checked out my design sketches and the handmade samples I brought, her eyes sparkled.

"These have so much spirit!" Kristen said, picking up a crocheted bunny with a tiny straw hat. "That warm, healing vibe. It's exactly what our brand wants to share. But—"

She paused, glancing at my resume. "There's a four-year gap here. Can you tell me what's behind that?"

I calmly rested my hand on my still-flat belly and admitted, "I got married and was a homemaker for a while. Now I'm ready to start over. Also, I'm pregnant, just hit the two-month mark. If there's a lot of overtime or travel, I might not be able to keep up."

"Pregnant?" Kristen blinked in surprise, then grinned. "That's great news! Congratulations! Our studio is really flexible. No need to clock in. It's all task-based.

"As long as you finish your designs on time, you can work from home if you want. And go to your checkups whenever you need, it won't count as leave."

I was caught off guard. I never thought it would be this easy.

"Why would you want to hire me?" I couldn't help but ask.

Kristen fiddled with the bunny and grinned. "Because your work has warmth. There are way too many cold, mass-produced products out there. What we really need are these heartfelt, handmade pieces that carry a touch of humanity."

She winked playfully, "Plus, having a mom's eye in the mix might spark some new ideas for us. Welcome to Dream Farm!"

My eyes grew hot.

"Thank you," I said softly.

As I walked out of the creative arts park, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the clouds were pure white.

I gently touched my belly and whispered, "Baby, I got a job. From now on, I'll work hard to earn money and raise you."

The sun warmed my skin.

That long-lost hope for the future slowly bubbled up from deep inside me.

Lester tracked me down about two weeks later.

That day, I'd gotten back from a meeting at the studio, carrying a bag of fresh fruit Kristen had stuffed into my hands, saying it'd help keep me healthy.