Nine months ago, I was Matt — sarcastic, forgetful, too casual with everything except video games and late-night debates. And now, I'm Mara. My hands rest on the curve of my enormous belly, skin taut and warm beneath my fingers. I'm due any day. Every shift of the baby inside me is a surreal, wonderful reminder of how far I've come… and how I was never meant to stay the person I once was.
It had started with that thought — innocent, fleeting:
“What if I could give her what she always wanted?”
A daughter. My mother had always wanted one. It wasn’t a secret — just something unspoken that lived between her words when we passed the dress section while shopping, or when she dug out old photo albums and showed me pictures of her and her own mother.
I thought that wish might’ve been the saddest thing about her.
I never expected the universe to hear me. Or answer.
But it did.
I remember the mall — the hard light, the smell of cheap perfume. One moment I was Matt, rolling my eyes at overpriced cards, and the next…
Heat rolled through me like I’d been dropped in a boiling bath. My limbs went numb, but not from cold — from pressure. Everything tightened, then released. My chest ached, then swelled. I saw it happen — the way two soft mounds pushed outward beneath my shirt. My spine cracked and popped as my hips widened, my jeans pinching at the thighs. My voice caught, climbing an octave against my will.
I stumbled into the nearest restroom, locked myself in a stall, and stared at the woman in the mirror. She was gorgeous. Terrified. Familiar.
Me.
When I got home, the apartment had changed to match me. Dresses hung in the closet. There was perfume on the dresser I somehow remembered buying. And then…
The door opened.
Jason stepped inside. My boyfriend. My heart skipped at the sight of him — tall, lean, with that soft smile that always made me melt even when I was still figuring out who I was.
“Hey, babe,” he said, casual, like nothing had changed. And for him, it hadn’t.
My breath caught. “Hi,” I managed, blinking rapidly.
He leaned down and kissed me. Familiar. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. I stood there, stunned, and let it happen. But something warm bloomed in my chest — not fear, but… recognition.
I stared up at him, suddenly dizzy. “Jason…”
His hand cupped my face. “You’re shaking.”
I laughed nervously. “Rough day.”
He kissed me again. “Come here. Let me make it better.”
We didn’t plan to sleep together that night.
It just… happened. And when it did, I gave in completely.
He started by kissing my neck, gently, slowly, the way that made me shiver. His hands slipped under my shirt, brushing the underside of my new, sensitive breasts. I gasped at the touch — a high, soft sound that startled even me.
“Oh god,” I breathed, my back arching instinctively.
“You’re so sensitive tonight,” he murmured against my skin, lips dragging downward.
I couldn’t explain it — I didn’t want to. My body was on fire, every inch of me alive in a way I’d never experienced as a man. I wanted him — craved him. Not just emotionally. Physically. Desperately.
Clothes fell away. He kissed my thighs, worshipped every inch of my skin like it was sacred. And when he finally pushed inside me, I cried out.
It wasn’t pain. It was overwhelming. Fullness. Connection. Right.
Every motion sent sparks shooting through my body. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, hips rising to meet his with every thrust. My moans turned to whimpers, my hands fisting the sheets. I was drowning in sensation — waves of pleasure I’d never known as Matt.
“Jason,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please don’t stop.”
He leaned down, kissing me as he moved. “Never,” he promised.
And then I felt it — the rush inside me, the deep pulse of warmth as he finished. I gasped, my whole body trembling.
It hit me like lightning: I’m going to get pregnant.
Somehow, I knew. I felt it. Felt his seed filling me, deep inside. My body seemed to welcome it, cradling the moment like a secret.
The next morning, I lay curled in his arms, wide-eyed, my fingers resting on my lower belly.
Something had changed.
“I think…” I said slowly, “I might be pregnant.”
Jason chuckled. “Seriously? Already?”
“I just… have a feeling.”
And I was right.
Two weeks later, the test turned positive. I stood in the bathroom, staring at the stick, hand over my mouth.
Jason looked at me, then the test. “You’re pregnant?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
A moment of silence.
Then he pulled me into a hug, lifting me slightly off the ground. “We’re going to be parents,” he said, his voice soft with wonder.
The months passed quickly — and yet each day changed me.
Morning sickness. Hormonal mood swings. Cravings. My body bloomed in ways that both scared and fascinated me. My belly grew round, full. My breasts swelled again, preparing for the baby. I cried during commercials. I laughed when I felt the first kick.
Jason was my rock through all of it.
He came to every appointment. Massaged my back when I couldn’t sleep. Talked to our baby at night, whispering sweet promises against my belly.
And my mom… when I told her, she was overwhelmed.
“A girl,” she said, holding my hand, tears in her eyes. “Mara… you’re giving me everything I ever dreamed of.”
I didn’t tell her the full truth. How I’d become her daughter only nine months ago. It didn’t matter now. She had her daughter. She had her granddaughter on the way.
And I had never felt more certain of anything.
Now, I lie in bed, belly huge, skin taut. Our daughter moves inside me, her little feet pressing against my ribs. Jason sleeps beside me, one hand on my bump, smiling even in his dreams.
I stroke my belly gently, whispering to her, “You were made from love. You made me who I am.”
Because I wasn’t always Mara. I wasn’t always a woman.
But I was always meant to become one — for her.
For my mom.
For myself.
And soon, I’ll give birth not just to a child…
…but to the life I was always meant to live.
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