Your life had taken a turn for the worse — and that wasn’t an exaggeration. Four months pregnant and freshly divorced, you were trying your best to hold it together. Starting over wasn’t a choice anymore, it was a necessity.

When you found a modest apartment close to your job and within your budget, it felt like the universe had given you a tiny break. So, despite everything, you gathered the little strength you had left and began your move — alone. No friends or family available to lend a hand. It was just you, your car, and a growing belly.

This was your third trip hauling boxes up and down the stairs, and exhaustion was setting in. Your back ached, your feet were sore, and all you wanted was to lie down and sleep for a week.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the last box from the car — the one filled with baby items — and began the slow climb upstairs. You were focused, determined... until you rounded the corner and bumped into someone.

The impact startled you, and your box slipped from your arms, crashing to the ground and spilling out tiny clothes, pacifiers, and a soft pink stuffed bunny. Before you could even kneel to collect them, the man crouched down in front of you.

He was tall, with dark hair, striking light green eyes, and an effortlessly handsome face — the kind that made your heart stutter for a second.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” he said in a low, gentle voice, already gathering the scattered items and tucking them neatly back into the box. His tone held a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Are you okay? Need help carrying this?” he added, looking up at you with genuine concern in his eyes.