It was their first anniversary, and Becca was supposed to share her big news with Ben: they were finally pregnant! When Ben doesn’t show up at the restaurant, Becca heads home, hoping that her husband is there. But Ben wasn’t at home, and in his absence was a cryptic note…
It was supposed to be a special day.
Ben and I were celebrating our first wedding anniversary, and I had been waiting on this day for the past two months, counting down the days until I could safely share my news with Ben.
After trying for nearly six months, I finally found out that I was pregnant. The second those two pink lines appeared, I wanted to tell my husband.
But I also wanted to wait until I was safely along before telling him. “Even two months is too soon, Becca,” my friend, Tiffany, told me.
“But I get why you want it to be a big anniversary present.
I love that!”
“I just think that it’s something that we’ve both been looking forward to,” I said. “And this is a milestone for us as a married couple, so why not pile on one other bit of news?”
I could almost imagine his face lighting up, the joy in his eyes. I could almost hear his laugh, followed by an excited, “We’re going to be parents!”
I know that the entire evening I had planned was a bit of a cliché, but I loved old-school romance that was meaningful and sentimental.
So, I chose the restaurant where we had our wedding reception.
It was a lovely little place with dim lighting and soft music that simply made you feel like you were in a movie. I thought it would make the moment even more perfect.
I spent hours getting ready, slipping into the same dress I had worn at our reception. I thought that Ben would love the gesture because he was just as sentimental as I was.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt like a newlywed again.
I got to the restaurant early, of course. I couldn’t help it. The excitement bubbled out of me.
Too excited to wait, I ordered a glass of water and watched the door, eagerly waiting for my husband to walk in.
But Ben didn’t show. I checked my phone—no messages.
Minutes ticked by, and the waitress came by again, her smile thinning with each pass. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked.
“I’ll bring you the drinks menu?”
“No, thank you!
And no alcohol for me! I’m pregnant!” I blurted out, just wanting to tell someone the good news. “Congratulations!” she said.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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