From Pain Came Love: I Thank God He Sent Me James!
My name is Anna Smith, and I live in Abingdon, nestled in the lovely Oxfordshire countryside. Since childhood, I’ve adored children—spending hours watching kids play in the park, dreaming of the day I’d have my own. By the time I turned 25, this dream felt almost tangible. Stopping in parks to watch children running, laughing, and falling only to get back up, my heart longed to be a mother.
Matthew was my first real partner. We made plans, spoke of marriage, and when I discovered I was expecting, joy overwhelmed me like a wave. I could see our family, our home, our little one. But for him, this news was a shock. He turned pale, withdrew, and then collected his things and left the flat we shared without a word of goodbye. I was left alone—abandoned, with a child growing inside me. I never saw him again. At night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Thoughts buzzed like bees: abortion, adoption, raising the child alone. The first two options I dismissed immediately—they felt like betrayals of myself. The third path frightened me: I knew I’d face my parents’ judgment and constant reproaches, but I was ready to fight.
They say morning brings wisdom, and that day came with hope. As I headed to work with a heavy heart, I bumped into James at the entrance. He was my neighbour—a tall, kind man who had shown interest in me. I often caught his warm, lingering glances and saw how he hurried to assist with my bags when I returned from shopping. Usually, I’d pass by with a quick “hello,” but that morning I paused. We started talking. He asked about Matthew, and something compelled me to share everything—my pain, my fears, my loneliness. That evening he was waiting for me with a red rose, and within a month, we married. I didn’t want a wedding—it felt insincere, but James insisted, “Everything will be alright, trust me.”
James was a gem—kind, smart, caring, with an open heart. But I didn’t love him. When our daughter Kate was born, he worked wonders. In four days, he transformed our home into a fairy tale, personally renovating and decorating her room, making it glow like a child’s dream. Friends helped him, and I saw his pride shining through. Something inside me warmed, but the spark, that magic, was still missing. James fought for my heart, never giving up, surrounding me with care, yet I remained distant, like a wall.
Then fate struck again. Our son was born—frail, ill, with a severe diagnosis. Doctors looked at us with pity: “Leave him, it would be better.” I looked into James’s eyes—they mirrored the terror that tore at my soul. Refusing to let go, we clung to each other like a lifeline. But our baby boy passed away the following week. We cried together in the night—he held me, whispering that perhaps our son went to a place without pain. This loss shattered us, but it bonded us more strongly than I could have imagined. That night, I felt for the first time that I loved him—not just respected or felt grateful, but loved him with all my heart. Out of that pain, love blossomed like a phoenix from the ashes.
Miraculously, our sons came into our lives one after another—two joyous, lively boys. Now, our home is filled with laughter, warmth, and life. I am head over heels for James, the father of my children, my saviour. He entered my life when I was falling into despair and pulled me into the light. I believe it was God who sent him to me, so we’d weather tears together and one day cradle grandchildren. Each morning, I look at him and think: thank you for being here. Thank you for not giving up. From our grief grew true happiness, unyielding like a rock. And I know with him by my side, I’m ready to face anything.
