My Ex Asked Me to Take Care of His Pregnant Wife

**Diary Entry**

When the phone rang at seven in the morning, I already knewit had to be Robert. Only he would call at such an ungodly hour with the energy of someone who thought the day began at dawn.

“Yes?” I grumbled, barely awake.

“Emma, sorry to wake you, but I need a huge favour.”

I sat up in bed. With him, a “huge favour” always meant either disaster or madness.

“Go on, then,” I sighed.

“Ive got a business trip to London. Two weeks. Sophies six months along, and the doctor says she needs to rest more”

“And you want me to look after your pregnant wife?” I cut in.

Silence on the other end.

“Just making sure she eats properly, gets to her appointments, doesnt stress”

“Do you hear how this sounds, Robert?”

“I know,” he exhaled. “But I trust you. And Sophie adores you. Says youre the sister she never had.”

Lovely, I thought. The sister who used to be his wife and still isnt sure shes fully over him.

I hung up, but twenty minutes later, I was at their doorstep. Sophie answeredwearing a pyjama set covered in ducks, her hair tousled, her bump round and lovely.

“Emma! I didnt mean to bother you, this was all Roberts idea,” she said, flustered.

“Relax, I dont bite. Wheres your globetrotter?”

“In the bedroom, hunting for socks. Blue ones. Failing, as usual.”

Oh, I knew that routine well.

“You really came?” Robert peered out.

“Yes, but I have conditions.”

He tensed. “Which are?”

“No calling every five minutes. Dinner at the fanciest restaurant when youre back. And buy Sophie Belgian chocolatesshes been craving them since yesterday.”

“How did you know?” Sophie blinked.

“I can tell,” I smiled. “Pregnancy cravings arent exactly subtle.”

When he finally left, we were alonethe ex-wife and the current one, both a little awkward.

“Weird, isnt it?” Sophie said, pouring me tea.

“Very. But Im used to lifes odd turns.”

We spent days together. Id arrive in the morning, make breakfast, help around the house. We watched telly, laughed, talked about everything.

“Be honest,” she asked softly one day. “Do you still love him?”

I couldve lied. But not to her.

“Yes. Just not the same way. Its like loving a memory. It aches, but it doesnt wound.”

She nodded. “I was afraid you hated me.”

“Believe me, I tried,” I laughed. “But youre too lovely to hate.”

The next day, we went to her scan. When the tiny heartbeat flickered on the screen, Sophie squeezed my hand.

“See? Thats him.”

And I dida little life born from a past Id once shared with that man. It hurt and yet, it was peaceful.

“Gorgeous,” I said honestly.

“Dyou think Robert will cry when he sees the photo?”

“Undoubtedly. He cried at the happy ending of *Love Actually*.”

We laughed. We cried. We became friends.

One evening while cooking, Sophie asked, “Why did you break up, really?”

I set the knife down. “We were opposites. Mecontrol, himchaos. Mequiet, hima whirlwind. We loved each other but couldnt live together.”

“And with me?”

“With you, he found balance. You calm him. I just stoked the fire.”

She smiled through tears. “Youre incredible, Emma.”

“No, I just learned to let go.”

When Robert returned, Sophie nearly bowled him over. He showered me in thanks.

“Emma, youre an angel.”

“An angel who wants dinner at a Michelin-starred place,” I reminded him.

They laughed. Watching them, I realisedyes, I still loved him. But now it was love without demands. Love that could rejoice in their happiness.

“This little one will have the best auntie in the world,” Robert said, staring at the scan photo.

“Auntie?” Sophie teased.

“Obviously,” I grinned. “After two weeks, Im officially part of this mad little family.”

“Sure you want to sign up for this chaos?” he joked.

“Too late to back out now,” I said. “Someones got to stop you naming the baby Algernon.”

“Whats wrong with Algernon?!” Sophie gasped.

We all burst out laughing.

So I became the “auntie” to my ex-husbands child and his wonderful wife. And you know what? I didnt feel lonely anymore.

My story mightve sounded like a bizarre soap opera, but it had everythinglaughter, pain, tenderness, forgiveness.

And when, months later, Sophie called and said, “Emma, will you be our sons godmother?” I just laughed and said,

“Well, now Im stuck with you lot forever.”