At 39 weeks pregnant, I was exhausted but determined to celebrate my husband Alan’s birthday. Instead, his words at dinner cut so deep I grabbed my daughter’s hand and walked out—leaving the whole family stunned.
I’m Catherine, 38, and expecting our second child. My body feels like a balloon ready to burst. Every step hurts, sleep is impossible, and the doctor insists I rest. But Alan hasn’t been present—he’s skipped nearly every appointment, left the nursery unfinished, and dismissed my pleas for help as “nagging.”
Alan’s sister Kelly hosted a cozy family dinner: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, candles, laughter. I tried to smile through the pain. Our daughter Zoey chattered happily, and for a moment, it felt normal.
Then Alan turned to me, grinning: “Cath, after dinner, why don’t you take Zoey home and put her to bed? I’ll stay here, drink beer with Jake, maybe smoke a cigar. My last chance to celebrate before the baby comes.”
The fork slipped from my hand. “You want me to leave? Alone? At 39 weeks pregnant?”
He shrugged. “You’re tired anyway. Someone has to put Zoey to bed.”
Silence fell. Alan’s mother Grace stood, her voice sharp: “Repeat what you just said.”
Alan stammered, but Grace pressed on: “Your wife is nine months pregnant, exhausted, and you want her to drive home alone with your child so you can party? She’s been to every appointment alone, begged you to finish the nursery, and you’ve done nothing. You’ve forgotten what it means to be a husband.”
Alan’s face flushed red, then pale. No one defended him.
Grace placed her hands on my shoulders. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. I’ll come with you.”
I stood, every movement painful, and held Zoey’s hand. “Daddy wants to stay here and party,” I told her gently. We left without goodbyes.
At home, Grace helped with Zoey’s bedtime, then sat with me. “You won’t be alone, dear. Whatever my son decides, you’ll have me.”
Alan never came home that night. As the baby kicked harder, I whispered to my belly: “You will never doubt that you’re loved.”
I don’t know what the future holds for my marriage. But I know this: my children deserve a family built on love, not neglect. And I’m ready to fight for that—even if it looks different than I once imagined.
