The Road Back Home—Part 3
I knew marriage wasn’t going to be easy, but I never expected to face some of the darkest moments while pregnant with my first child. In this chapter of my journey, I want to share how Paul and I reached a breaking point, how divorce papers were served at the most heartbreaking moment, and how my faith became the only thing keeping me going.
Holding On, Even When He Let Go
After Paul and I had separated, I did what I always do—I kept fighting. I was two months pregnant, my marriage was unraveling, and I found myself completely ghosted. He didn’t want to talk to me, and every effort I made to repair things was met with silence. But I couldn’t give up. I texted him every day, sending him scripture, reminding him that I loved him, that I was praying for us, and that I wanted to fix what was broken.
But Paul was gone. He was struggling with substances and had an unhealthy attachment to his old life. And while I tried to stay persistent in reaching out to him, it became clear that he was choosing to avoid me and the new life God was trying to give us. He didn’t just stonewall me—he disappeared. For an entire month, while I carried our son, I didn’t hear from him. The only thing I did get was money. He sent money, as if that was enough to fix the mess. I knew he was in Canada, filming a movie and going on a bender. It felt like the man I loved had completely slipped away.
The Day That Changed Everything
I was going out for a walk, hoping to get some fresh air and clear my head. Paul called me out of the blue, and I was so excited to hear from him. I missed him so much. When we FaceTimed, I could tell something was off, but I kept talking, telling him how much I wanted to see him and work things out.
He was just 15 minutes away. I was hopeful we’d finally get the chance to reconnect. But instead, he told me something that completely shattered me: “I filed for divorce.”
He explained that he felt we’d gotten married too quickly and that his friends, family, and colleagues all agreed that we had made a mistake. I was heartbroken. I thought, how could the man I love—and the father of my child—just walk away like that?
Paul was struggling, and looking back, I can see how the enemy had such a grip on him during this time. He was listening to the wrong voices—people who didn’t know our story, didn’t know the heart of our relationship—and instead of fighting for our marriage, he let their words convince him that it was over.
He became antagonistic, not just avoiding me, but lashing out. I knew this wasn’t the Paul I married. I also knew that drugs and alcohol were making things worse. Paul was caught in a spiritual battle, and the substances he was abusing only made it easier for the enemy to twist his thoughts and lead him down a path of destruction.
An All-Out War
I’ll never forget the moment I realized this wasn’t just a battle for my marriage—it was a spiritual war. Two days before Paul called me to say he had filed for divorce, I felt like God was preparing me. He spoke so clearly, telling me, “This is the beginning of a war.” I remember Him saying, “Write down the scriptures I’m about to give you.”
I posted those scriptures all over my bedroom wall, right around a picture of Paul and me from our engagement. Every day, I prayed those prayers, clinging to the promises of God as I walked through my pregnancy alone. There were moments when it felt like I was carrying everything by myself—emotionally, physically, and spiritually—but I kept praying. I kept believing that God wasn’t finished with our story.
One of the hardest moments during this time came when I went to the doctor for my first ultrasound to hear our son’s heartbeat. I remember pulling up to the valet parking, full of excitement for this milestone. And right there, in that moment, a process server handed me the divorce papers.
It felt like a gut punch. I was standing in a moment that should have been full of joy and hope, only to be served with papers that represented the end of everything I thought my future was going to be. I was alone, carrying our baby, and yet I had to hold it together.
I wasn’t ready to give up. I called Paul’s pastor and asked if he could talk to him, maybe help him see what we were throwing away. Surprisingly, Paul agreed to do some marital counseling. Over the course of a few sessions, we started talking—really talking—about what went wrong. For the first time, he heard my heart, and I got to explain the disagreement that had spiraled into this massive breakdown.
I begged him to reconsider, to think about what our future could look like if we gave it one more try. I knew deep in my spirit that God wasn’t done with us.
From January to March, I didn’t hear from Paul again. And then the time came—our son was about to be born. I wondered if Paul would show up, if he’d be there for the birth of his first child. The co-parenting counselor tried to reach him, but there was silence.
I had to accept that I was going to do this alone. I had to carry our baby across the finish line. The anger I felt toward Paul during that time was overwhelming, but it wasn’t just anger—it was heartbreak. I knew there would come a day when Paul would realize the weight of what he had done, and I dreaded that moment for him.
Paul didn’t show up for the birth of our son, Harris. It’s still hard to put into words the emotions I felt during those days. Coming home from the hospital without my husband, doing the middle-of-the-night feedings on my own, feeling the weight of being a new mom without my partner by my side—it was overwhelming.
There were moments when my parents came to help, and friends would bring meals, but eventually, that all fades. And there I was, just Harris and me, navigating those early weeks of motherhood. I knew I had to be strong for him, even when I felt completely alone.
A Glimmer of Hope
Five weeks after Harris was born, Paul came to visit. It was like a glimpse of what could have been. We spent a beautiful weekend together, and for a moment, it felt like we were back to the way things were. We picked up where we left off, and I saw Paul holding our son with joy in his eyes. It was everything I had hoped for.
But just as quickly as he came, Paul pulled back. He got spooked. It was too much for him, and he wasn’t ready to be pulled back into our life together. That was the last time I heard from him until October.
Watch Part 3 of our I Am Second Story
IN PART 4
There were still many dark days ahead, but I held onto the hope that God wasn’t finished with our story. In Part 4, I’ll share how Paul eventually came to realize the depth of his mistakes and how God began the work of restoring what was broken.