I Hired a Doula to Accompany Me During My Delivery and Was Shocked to Find Out Who She Really Was

I always dreamed of becoming a mother, and finally, my dream was coming true. But the joy of expecting a child was overshadowed by my husband David’s unexpected business trip and the arrival of a stranger.

David and I had prepared for a child for years, enduring heartbreak after heartbreak. Then, eight months ago, I finally saw those coveted two lines on the pregnancy test. I was overjoyed, knowing I would never abandon this child as I once was.

We decided to have a partner birth, but then David received news of a business trip in ten days, possibly lasting a month. Panic set in as I feared he might miss the birth.

“I want to give birth with my husband, not some stranger,” I protested when David suggested hiring a doula, Martha. He insisted it would provide support while he was away, and I reluctantly agreed to meet her.

The day of our meeting, I walked into a warm café, unsure of what to expect. A woman in her fifties with kind eyes introduced herself as Martha. We talked for two hours about her role and how she could help me during labor. We found common ground in our views on childbirth, and I felt reassured.

As we wrapped up, I asked, “Do you have children?” She smiled, saying she didn’t but had given birth. I sensed a deeper story but didn’t press her.

As my due date approached, Martha became a comforting presence, helping with chores and keeping me calm. I felt an unexplainable connection to her.

The day came when my water broke. Panic surged as contractions hit. “Breathe, Amber, breathe,” Martha instructed, but I was confused. “What did you call me?”

“I meant Sheila. Focus on your breathing,” she said quickly.

“When I was born, I was named Amber. My mother abandoned me, and my adoptive parents renamed me. This can’t be a coincidence,” I pressed.

“It’s just a coincidence,” Martha insisted.

“What happened to the baby you gave birth to?” I asked, my heart racing.

“I gave her up for adoption,” Martha replied quietly.

“It was me, wasn’t it?” I realized, feeling a wave of betrayal.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I recognized you at our first meeting.”

“I can’t believe you lied to me!” I cried.

“Sheila, I wanted to do the right thing,” she said, her voice breaking.

In the midst of our confrontation, I decided I needed to leave. “I’m driving myself to the hospital,” I said, ignoring her protests.

When I reached the hospital, the nurses surrounded me with concern, and just as the doctor announced it was time to give birth, David rushed in, breathless. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he said, taking my hand.

With David and Martha supporting me, I finally gave birth to our daughter. The joy of that moment was overwhelming, but I knew we needed to talk later about everything that had happened.

Hours later, Martha approached. “I’m sorry for lying,” she began.

“I don’t want to talk about this now,” I interrupted, wanting to focus on my new baby. “But we will discuss it later.”

As Martha left, I thought that now that I was a mother, I might begin to understand why she did what she did.