England was a whirlwind. My ICT visa was my ticket, but meeting my husband? That was fate, pure and simple. We clicked instantly, a spark that ignited into marriage. Looking back, I can almost feel the pull of attraction, as if I willed us together. That’s a story for another time, though.

Marriage, however, wasn’t the fairytale I had pictured. I left my IT job, craving something more—something that was truly me. Then, bam! My husband received a diabetes diagnosis. His world, and ours, tilted. He could no longer work, his business crumbled, and the crushing weight of debt was something I hadn’t seen coming. Fear gnawed at me. I had to step up and be the rock. I returned to software development, a job I desperately wanted to escape. It felt like a betrayal of my dreams, but the income was our lifeline.

We moved from his cramped, shared house to a little rented apartment. It was cozy but definitely not ours. We dreamed of a house, a real home. My husband, bless him, was fixated on a cul-de-sac—a word I barely understood. We would gently argue about mortgages and budgets, but the dream never faded. I spent nights scrolling through property listings, my heart aching for a place to call our own. We even postponed having a baby since the apartment just wasn’t big enough for how we wanted our parents to be able to visit us.

We were living in a weird limbo during COVID-19, wanting so much but feeling so stuck. We talked about buying a giant TV, but I always said, “Let’s wait for the house.” It was a constant reminder, a yearning in the back of my mind. We went to viewings, feeling like imposters, always being asked about our mortgage capacity. It was humiliating, to be honest.

Then came that night. After a frustrating show home visit and a small fight, we lay in bed, backs turned and seething. My phone, on silent, started buzzing. My husband, his voice cold, nudged me and said, “Your phone.” I almost did not answer it.

It was them, the builder. It was about the house I had registered interest in weeks ago, at 2 AM when I was half-asleep and desperate. They had a cancellation, and it was ours if we moved quickly. My heart pounded. It was the exact house we’d secretly rated as the best. It felt like the universe was saying, “Here you go.”

We rushed over in a blur of adrenaline and disbelief. The show home was pristine, but this one was empty—just bare walls and potential. We were terrified, but the lady said, “Now or never.” It was a leap of faith, a gamble. We took it.

The months that followed were a whirlwind. I researched everything—government schemes, NHS discounts. It was like a puzzle, and I was determined to find all the pieces. I wrote down my dreams for the house, visualizing every detail and feeling the warmth of sunlight through imaginary windows. I didn’t know it then, but I was manifesting.

And then, it happened. We moved in—a four-bedroom house in a cul-de-sac, just like my husband wanted. It was unbelievable. Shortly after, I got pregnant. Our little boy arrived, filling our home with laughter. Our parents visited, just like we had dreamed. It was perfect.

Later, my husband introduced me to “The Secret.” It was like watching my life flash before my eyes, recognizing the invisible threads of the law of attraction weaving through everything. It wasn’t just luck. It was us, our dreams, and our unwavering belief. Honestly, I’m still pinching myself. It feels like a miracle, plain and simple.

It was the law of attraction at its finest in my life!